DBX: Act 2: Revolution
by Xenotra
Summary: (Ph. 1)The failed attempts of Direct fall close to their next objectives, and cause them to make a choice. Darker, and clearer than Act 1, more is learned about the characters and the world they live in. Better battles, story, characters, and so far the
1. Overrule

  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the very few DBZ characters in this.  
  
A.N.: In my honest opinion, the first Act wasn't all that good, but it was an introduction. If you felt Act 1 was missing something, you'll probably be happy with this one. Act 1 was there truly to introduce the main characters and the world they live in. NOW let's get into the story...  
  
  
  
  
  
DBX  
Act II  
Revolution  
  
  
  
Prologue  
The theater was dark and crowded, the movie quite sappy. A boy sat in the exact center seat of the theater, calmly eating his popcorn. Suddenly, he just stopped eating and gazed down into the barrel. He looked to the seat behind him, then back to the barrel, a wide grin spreading across his face.  
Without warning, the boy stood and flung the bucket of popcorn behind him, into the face of a man. The man hastily wiped the kernels off his face and jumped up, "Hey, man, who the hell do you think you are, huh?"  
The boy's grin disappeared immediately as he answered with authority, "Savi Konasha, Master Legionnaire of the Legion of Conquest." With an upward swipe of his hand, the man flew against and through the wall. This event caused quite a commotion, as everyone took any exit available. In a matter of minutes, the theater was quiet and empty. Empty, save for one other customer.   
This viewer was wearing a long, terra cotta trench coat and hat to match. These were shed immediately as the man stood. By the time they hit the ground, he was standing with legs apart, a rod sword drawn and held with both hands, the hilt at level with his head, common stance for a warrior swordsman. However, a major difference in the man was that he was young and a symbol of that of a sword facing down shown on his back and front. He was armor-clad in the uniform of red and black. The color of Vengeance.  
There was no exchange of words before the battle. "Savi" flung his arms up, sending ten rows of chairs toward the soldier. The first chair reflected first in the soldier's eye, then his sword, as he slashed cleanly through each one, then resuming his previous position. Savi brought his arm up, letting a switchboard and screen pop up. He calculated the numbers.   
"Only a thou- Ooowaa!" He had dodged the kamehamaha at the last second. Aggravated, he flung two more rows at the soldier. However, instead of slicing them, the soldier sheathed his sword and leapt out of the way. While in the air, he executed over a hundred energy volleys, all in the radius of where Savi was floating. A common technique, Savi noted to himself. The Legionnaire easily dodged the blasts.  
Stopping the volley, the soldier charged a quick blast, and flung it with great speed. Savi hadn't expected that speed and was hit directly the face by the charge, flinging him back in the air. He brought his face back through the mist cloud that had formed. He swore that he could see a strange green light reflect within the soldier's pupils.  
  
  
Chapter 1  
Overrule  
  
"All I'm saying is that I have more experience in that area. I know military tactics, and I can train soldiers." Aidam put both hands on the table and stood.  
"You trained the soldiers and planned the Elimination; that failed." Shane observed from his seat.  
"It failed because of intervention. And it made us realize that Cinder is an imperfect prospect, and should not be used again."  
It was 10:03 a.m., and the remainder of the council knew that each minute would last an hour at this rate. They'd been debating since 8:30, and it was actually heated. However, most of the council still knew Aidam didn't have a chance of winning the argument when against that of Trunks and Shane.  
"Chancellor," Hyle Ericson explained, "you have to look at the statistics. The concentration of a military faction within Direct itself, even this long after the uprisings, will bring concern upon us and maybe more hate. Also," he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, "Having a separate military power and a political power, in time, the two will feud. It's happened before, it will happen again. We've merged the two in hopes to stop that feuding, and it's worked, ever since Direct was created. You can't deny that."  
"Gentlemen, I close this meeting with a thought." Aidam stood tall and proud, as if he knew something everyone else didn't, "All across this world, revision is taking place. And yet, we stay the way we are. If the world is to change, we must change with it. What with the Cinder incident, how many more lives may be in danger unless we increase our military?"  
  
It had been two months since the uprising and Trevor's death, two months since the thought of war. Now, Aidam has left the concept of war, knowing that it will never occur. He had begun to make a new agenda for a separate military faction, only for the sole purpose of defense against unknown foes. So far, he's wrecked his old reputation and has gone to work creating a new, stronger one.  
But all thoughts of anything were interrupted with a transmission of the news broadcast: "All mobilized investigation officers, head to the Crownling Movie Plaza. Hyle ran; his aids behind him.  
  
The area was already crawling with specialists, and they weren't Direct.  
Hyle pulled up and got out of the cruiser. "What the- why are Exodus specialists here?"  
"It's our field." Keith Alcolm was behind them, and had now walked in front of them. "Not yours." He said to Hyle.  
When one of his aids started to protest, Hyle motioned to wait. He glared into the eyes of the Exodus specialist. Rick glared back. They never broke gaze for several minutes. Finally, Hyle's efforts to intimidate or break Mr. Alcolm ended when he shut his eyes tight and turned away, broken himself. Keith blinked after, grinning.  
When he had seen them be gone, he turned back to the scene and listened to the communicator in his ear. He lifted the flap of his jacket near his mouth, "Is Tren here yet?" he listened, "Well, where is he? We need him for this investigation." He listened a little more, "Alright, send Rick over here, Arace needs some help."  
Rick Yune and Arace Kellen were not Exodus' finest, but they were still close. Arace had the expert analysis of crime scenes while Rick was always ambitious enough to try to dig deeper. Arace was already questioning when Rick arrived and she jogged over to fill him in.  
"We found a soldier of the Sword of Vengeance under some of the rubble. He's being attended to by medics and questioned."  
"He's still alive?"  
"Yes! I'm still alive!" he called over, he obviously had heard the conversation. He continued to murmur when they reached him, "Why didn't he kill me? It was like he had honor."  
"What happened?"  
"I was- hey, wait a minute." He looked them over, focusing on the odd circle of slashes symbol on their shoulders. "You guys are Exodus. Why aren't you SV?"  
"Listen, you fight the battles, we investigate and record them. Now please, tell us what happened."  
"Sorry, uh," he looked at his ID, "Rick Yune, I can't do that, made by my code."  
"We're not at war here, this isn't a government secret! Just tell us something to help, please!" Rick bellowed. The soldier just sat and grinned. Rick turned away and cursed. He started away, and Arace followed.  
"Rick, please, we can keep trying." She tried to soothe his anger, but he whirled on her.  
"We have to stop this rivalry." He told her tersely, "We have to, or nothing will ever get done." He walked aways, then took out his earpiece and clenched in his fist. Then he wailed to the sky, "Where are you, Tren!!?"  
  
"Focus you're thoughts. Become one with yourself and the program. Anticipate all. Go."  
The program began. One module came up, and was blown away just as fast as its partner. Vor focused now on the back, but flipped the gun around and fired behind him on the right, then on the left. There was one explosion. Then he felt a searing sting on his right shoulder, causing him to fall to the floor and for the program.  
"That third shot fired, the one behind you, you missed. I'll give you some direction this time."  
"I don't need any direction!"  
"Go."  
Vor was surprised at the sudden recoil, but shot down the first two bots as he had before. Then the direction came. "Turn!" Vor turned his body and arm. "Look!" Vor forced his eyes to the ascending bot. "Fire!" he did, the shot hit its mark, but immediately after, he felt the pain in his left shoulder and again fell and again the program ended.  
"Good job."  
"Good!? I got shot!"  
"Yes. But you hit the mark you missed before."  
"I still got shot!" Vor yelled indignantly.  
"Perhaps a deal of improvisation is needed. Again. Go." Tren's voice didn't speak at all from then on till the end of the program.  
Vor focused this time more than ever. The first two came and went in a blaze of sizzled steel. Vor turned, looked, shot, hit, and heard the surge coming. His mind felt it, and told the body what to do. He turned back and cartwheeled to his left, the beam sang between his legs in mid-turn. While upside-down in the air, he fired, then landed with a hard Thump! on the floor, his boots hitting multiple times.  
PROGRAM COMPLETED  
Vor lifted himself up and stared at the charred remains of the bot in disbelief. His mouth kept forming the words "How?"  
"Well done, take a rest." Tren's window covered itself with a black shield. From within, he turned to Jim and said, "You were right, he is stubborn."  
Jim laughed at that.   
  
Rick parked his cruiser and got out. The building wasn't all that extravagant, at least on the outside. The only impressive part had to be the symbol of the downward sword on the door. He entered after staring at the symbol for a time.  
The lobby was small, narrow, and empty, save for one very silent clerk who stayed that way even when talked to. Rick finally got frustrated, "Why do you hate us? Why do you hate the outside world?"  
"It isn't the outside world, sir, it is the ideas within it."  
What? "I, don't understand."  
"And you never will." The clerk said nothing more, just stared into space as if in a trance.  
Rick left with nothing more to say and decided to see if there was a back door. There wasn't, but he wasn't alone in the alley.  
"You consort with things you know nothing of, boy." The voice was deep and above. Rick turned and immediately looked to the fire escape. Perched massively on the rung and stretching also onto the railing was a black and red armor-clad thing, with three robotic wings protruding from his chest-plate over his back. He was masked, more of a helmet really, with a shortened snout-like front and a white eye-visor. Not clear, but white.  
"I would not atone a course of action that would lead to hostility between peaceful factions so far."  
Rick returned simply, "But I would." The perched man shifted position. "If it would kill these ideas of superiority and secrecy and honor. There is no honor without truth." Rick hefted his coat over his shoulder, pleased with his words, and strode out of the street to his cruiser.  
  
The captain pushed down the intercom switch, "Yes, you can send him in." The soldier from the movie plaza entered, fitted in new uniform and bandaged. "Ah, Erik, welcome back."  
"Sir, I believe I can continue my training sooner than anticipated." The soldier named Erik said, straightening.  
"Ah, heh heh, and, uh, when would that be?" the captain asked slowly.  
"Well, I would say....now."   
"Heh heh heh, right." The captain stood, "And how would your injury be right now, hm?"  
"It's only a burn, and the medics have tended to it." He hastened to say.  
"Hmm," the captain studied Erik's face, "Indeed." He sighed, examining the way Erik contorted his face so very slightly to hide the pain. "Take one week and then I'll see you back on duty, all right?"  
"But Captain! I can fight easily, it's only a scratch, I-  
"You-are-dismissed, Sergeant."  
Erik, hurt and embarrassed, turned defiantly and left.  
"He's right, Jonathon." The voice was deep and full; dark. The captain tensed up and grappled for the gun in his desk drawer in the most secret way he could muster. "Who's there?" he managed after it was firmly in his hand.  
"Oh, Jonathon, I'm hurt you can't recognize my voice by now." It bellowed. A glowing white slit of a visor appeared in the dark shadow just outside the open window.  
"Sir Vengeance!" he shoved the blaster away into his desk, shaking it loudly, "I didn't realize, I-  
"You look at Erik's virtue and willingness to fight as if it were a joke." He cut him off plainly, no emotion at all in his voice; hard to read his intent.  
"Sir, he's injured, he can't-  
"That isn't an injury!" Vengeance was closer than ever, hushing his anger only slightly, "That, is just another reason to continue training. He feels as if by failing in the battle he has failed his teacher. That he has failed me. He knows he can make up for it by training further."  
"Sir," Jonathon pleaded, "I am only doing my duty by our code."  
"Our CODE!?" he whirled back on him, "Recite it, Captain."  
"Sir, is it really necess-  
"NOW!"   
"H-honor, s-s-stability, Strength, Honor." He stumbled out.  
"Again!"  
"Honor, Stability, Strength, Honor."  
"Again! Louder!" Vengeance paced around Jonathon as he belted the Code of the Sword three times over and spoke over him, "Do not think that I do not know that every Leader knows every crack, every scrape, every smudge in his domain!"  
Jonathon stopped reciting, holding still, Vengeance was in his face, whispering, "Do not think I don't know you. I may train the soldiers, but you manage them." He was at the window, "Start respecting them."   
Jonathon blinked and Vengeance was gone.  
  
  
ADMISSION GRANTED  
Rick walked in, a folder under his arm, Arace behind him. Tren sat at his desk, "You wanted to meet with me, Rick?"  
"Yes, sir. I think we've come up with something." He laid the folder on the table.  
Tren motioned, "Rick, Arace, have a seat." Tren himself leaned more onto the table. "So what is this?" he nodded to the folder.  
Arace passed it to him, "It's our plan on how to stop the rivalries."  
Tren began to read, but then seemed to spasm and press two fingers to his head. Rick stood up and asked urgently, "Tren, what is it!?"  
There was a pause, then he brought his fingers down and looked at them. "Get to the Prisoner Station. Now. We'll finish this later." He whispered.  
They looked at each other, then dashed out the door.  
  
When they got there, Direct officials had already scoured the area and were filing reports. They caught the gist of it: Cinder had escaped.  
  
  



	2. Demonstration

Chapter 2  
Demonstration  
  
"So what is it?" Aidam stood in the testing range, deep within the core of the Direct basement. Several officers were there to witness the goings on, including that of Mitchell Skos, an accomplished Lieutenant under Aidam's advisory.   
"We call it the Force Generator. We took the same generator schematics of the Cyclone cannon and added a rare element supplied by Exodus. This caused-  
"Exodus?"  
"Er," the engineer was thrown off by the interruption. "Yes, Exodus, uh, Tren offered it to our head engineer saying that, uh, they couldn't do anything with their lack of technology, so we could take it and use it as, um, our own."  
"And you agreed?" Aidam inquired.  
"Uh, well, yeah." He stammered.  
Aidam waited, his stern demeanor disintegrating fast into a grin, "Good, well done. Continue."  
"Right, ok, um, yeah. This caused the molecules within the plasma solution to increase their rate of impact, or increase their "force" of connection, enabling them to go through auras, you could say."  
"I understand, may I try it?" Aidam asked.  
"Oh, of course sir. Here." He handed him the gun. It was sleek and long-shafted, the barrel itself thinner and more concentrated. The back end had one circular cylinder and a bottom adjustable cartridge ahead of the trigger. The metal Lathe had a red tint to it in the light. Aidam's eyes followed the scientist's pointing finger to six rectangular monoliths lined up. He took aim and fired one shot.  
Every engineer's pair of eyes widened and bulged at the sight. The shot burned through each monolith with lightning speed, finally to enter an absorbing plate at the end.  
"Excellent." He handed the gun back to one of the engineers. "Have you tried putting the energy in smaller casings, smaller guns?"  
"Yes." The engineer hastened to say, "This one is can be upgraded, that's what the cartridge is for, and we have several successful models that have been tested in a smaller, pistol cartridge."  
"Very good, Fredrick, keep working on the smaller cartridges and duplicating them. Oh, and," from within his jacket he revealed a small folded paper and held it between two fingers before the engineer, "give this to the head of your project. It was mapped out and recommended by one of my students." He leaned closer, "I suggest you take good measurements."  
Mitchell watched and nodded when he saw the paper come out and into the hands of the engineer.  
ATTENTION: ALL COUNCILMEN TO THE BOARD IMMEDIATELY. REPEAT: ALL COUNCILMEN TO THE BOARD ASAP  
"Hm, uh, Mitchell," he motioned for Mitchell to come over, "My student will fill you in on the statistics, but I must be going." He began to exit. When he and Mitchell crossed, he clutched his arm and whispered, "Soon." Then let go and left.  
Yeah, yeah, don't give me that crap, I know. Mitchell knew and made his way down to the deck.  
  
"Well, gentlemen, this is a crisis, for all of us. Aidam, I won't blame you. You conceived him, but I won't blame you. What you created was for military reasons, not to be a psychopathic killer."  
"Okay, I think we got the point there." Aidam ended it.  
"Very well," Hyle sighed, then began, "Cinder was last spotted by a street Surveyor, the same who helped in the last incident involving Cinder, by the Square."  
"Who was that, councilman?"  
"Oh, Trevor recommended him, but he volunteered his services whenever he found something unusual that we did also."  
"What is his name?"  
"Oh, a Leon Orson."  
The name struck Aidam hard and fast. That's the same boy who intervened with the Enforcer. He's helping us?  
"Alright, let's get on with this please." Shane brought everyone back. "Aidam?"  
"Hm?" Aidam shook himself out of it.  
"Something wrong?" Shane knew the reason why Aidam was reacting that way, but chose to play along.  
"No, nothing's wrong." Then, to the group, "I think I may be able to take care of this crisis." He took out the Force project folder.  
  
Mitchell strode over to one specific working table and extended his hand to the engineer there. She graciously shook it. "So, you must be Mitchell."  
"Mitch."  
"Ok, well, I'm Maron. Pleased to meet you."  
"The pleasure is mine."  
"Don't flatter yourself." She muttered.  
"Oooo shot down." Mitch murmured as well.  
Mitch felt an uneasy silence settle, wondering how he should break it. He didn't. "So, you want me to build a suit for you?" Straight to business, screw the pleasantries.  
"Uh, yeah."  
She studied the sheet, "This is pretty basic, the schematics I mean."  
"Well, that's where you come in." Maron quickly brought her eyes at him, "I need defensive gear, possibly resistant to 200 times the force of a normal human."  
"And you want me to do this?"  
"Well, yeah. I can offer insight, but when it comes to knowledge of the technology, we need your analysis." Maron was staring him down, as if she didn't like what he was asking, "Is that alright?"  
She kept glaring, then her expression softened dramatically, "Cool your jets, military boy, I'm just messin' with you." A few snickers escaped the nearby engineers. She then called to her staff, "Alright, you heard the man, let's build him a battle suit."  
  
"So, this, Force Mechanism, has it been tested without our consent?" Shane threw out the idea of command into the discussion.  
"Yes, it has." Aidam didn't hesitate. "But I wish to give you reasons as to why it can be applied to our military." He got into position for his point, "You were saying that everyone is afraid of Cinder and won't face him knowing that weapons won't do a shred of good. This time, however, when this technology is fused into our normal arsenal, they can have no fear, knowing that their weapons will do a great deal of damage to targets like Cinder."  
Shane and the majority of the board seemed unconvinced.  
"I simply need something to give to you that would have you see what I can see for this technology."  
"And what would you suggest, Chancellor?"  
"A demonstration, to show you the glory and power of the Force Generation. Have us take care of Cinder."  
"Ha! That would be nearly impossible, what with your lack of experience in the field of command, I don't see-  
"I'll agree to that." The Headmaster descended from the alcove in the ceiling, remaining passive till now. Hyle froze. He continued, "Let's see if you fall on your face for once or maybe, just maybe, prove that your military strategies are our best. If you succeed, we will pass the Force G. experimentation and practice."  
"Agreed." Aidam returned calmly.  
Hyle stood quick and defiant, "Wait! You can't base our entire decision on a childish seek and destroy mission just because of the Headmaster!"  
"Stand down Hyle, you haven't been in here long enough to realize the power of the Headmaster." Aidam said composed and icy.  
He was right. Hyle was no more than twenty-five, in Direct for maybe two years, and just omitted onto the council. He was very bright and intelligent, but he didn't always know when to stop. This time, he did.  
  
Operations commenced immediately. Trunks' younger sister, Bra, took up strategic posts.  
ENTRANCE GRANTED the doors slid apart like a sheath, and Bra entered Aidam's quarters. He contemplated turning around to see her, but then shut the thought away, for fear Trunks may be coming. "Welcome, what's up?" he chimed instead.  
"I've found some blueprints of the underground of the city that you might find interesting." She said calmly, sparking his interest.  
His voice didn't betray that interest, "Hmm, is that so?"  
"It may, or will, help you in your coming battle."  
"I think I'll be fine." He said it very curtly, harsh and short enough to stop anything, too much for his intent. Bra stepped back slightly, eyes narrowing in confusion at the angry reply. But she mustered an equally short, but softer reply.  
"Just don't get yourself killed, alright?" she asked.  
"Is that...concern I hear from my rival's sister?" now he turned around.  
"Trunks isn't your rival, you two just don't share the same points." Just then, Trunks entered the room without making a scene; he had heard the whole conversation.   
"Bra, what are you doing here, you should be at the Support meeting." He inquired huskily.  
"Calm down, bro, I was just having a friendly strategic chat with Mr. Stronkhold before he goes off to war."  
"I thought I told you not to talk to him, it only encourages his ideas."  
Bra looked up at her brother, "You do realize I'm 26 right?"  
"I'll speak to her if I damn well please, Trunks."  
Trunks stepped past and in front of Bra, half "protecting" her. "Don't tell me what you can do that involves my family, is that clear?"  
Aidam stood and got in his face, "I will do what I see fit and is in my best interest, is that clear?"  
"Did I miss something?" Bra loudly interrupted. They stopped and turned to her. "No, really, I think you two should draw your swords, or guns, or whatever else you're hiding in your pants, and, you know, slug it out." They stared at her, almost dumbfounded. Now with their attention, she continued, "Of course there is a big, red, winged, fuming warlord outside incinerating cars and nuking buildings and if you two can't stop this pissing contest, then I suggest you take your little Mr. Happy and shove it up your ass, because it won't be going anywhere else." She paused, staring them both down. "Now, Aidam, I think I have something that might help you in your strategy. Follow me."   
Aidam turned his head slowly to Trunks and muttered, "Wow."  
"Yeah." Trunks nodded in agreement.  
  
"As you can see, there are still the navigation tunnels from the Gang Wars." Bra traced them on the map with her finger. Aidam was leaning over the map on the other side of the table. "I think you could spread your forces through all seven tunnels to ambush wherever Cinder is at the time from all sides."  
"I agree." He looked into her eyes, "And, thanks, for what you said back there."  
"Aidam, you're welcome, but, I meant it. If that happens again, I, personally, will make sure you walk funny for the rest of your life. Understood?"  
"Understood." Aidam grinned.  
"I can do that, Aidam." She whispered, very close now.  
His grin faded slowly and he left with a few "coughs", "ahems", and "excuse me's". Bra crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair, laughing quietly.  
  
Mitch was on his way to briefing, wearing a large cloak/coat over his FG Suit, hiding the modules and sleek armor from view of the common staff members. In his mind was a mix worry, adrenaline, and an odd sensation to throw up. Luckily, as he reached the briefing room, he was greeted by mutual feelings and helpful friendships, easing at least his worries.  
Aidam was in front of the projection coordinate, standing with a General's air about him. He stood almost too tall, too confident, but he didn't care, he had his pride. "Welcome, warriors. Soldiers, fighters, and raptors of the sky, I bid you to this new generation. If success is proven tonight, we will have a new defense against new opposition. You've all seen the tapes and private demonstrations, but it is time for the factions and the rest of the world to be opened to this new possibility." Aidam began to pace a long line back and forth across the briefing area, hesitant to continue, second-guessing himself of what may occur if he said more. He betrayed his judgment, "As I had said, you've seen the tapes and you know what you are capable of doing. Show no fear, you can hurt and kill Cinder with the weapons you will hold in your hands. Use your best judgement of combat and always, remember you are Direct's men and women, nothing will change that. Dismissed." He saluted, then walked through the parting bodies, each of them stiffening and saluting as he passed.   
Only one of them, leaning against the door's side, did not show this same enthusiasm. Aidam stopped at the door and asked the one, "Leon Orson?"  
Leon pushed off from the wall and stood relaxed, waiting. Aidam outstretched his hand. "I just want say how much we appreciate you helping us."  
Leon looked to the hand, then into Aidam's eyes. "Right." He turned out the door, but a commander blocked his path.  
"Soldier!" the commander barked, "Your officer expects to shake your hand, be honored!"  
Leon, still no expression on his face, looked into the commander's eyes now. "He's not my officer." He brushed past, "And I don't want the honor."  
The commander began to follow, but Aidam stopped him. "No, he's right." His eyes followed the Surveyor, "I'm not his officer."  
  
The sky had darkened dramatically, hopefully coincidentally; Aidam didn't want God to be mad at him as well. The horizontal double doors creaked open slowly, lettering only a sliver of light dance over the twenty troops behind Aidam.  
"Let's do this."   
  
Soldiers rose from the smallest of areas: doors behind bolted trashcans, basements, and even a public restroom. But despite the oddity of the areas, they were all strategically placed. Aidam and Mitch had separated for ground and command cover, but not five minutes after launching the operation; there was a sighting.  
"Sir!" Mitch came running in from the East sector. "I saw him, heading to the Lake Port."  
"Let's get a squad down there now!"  
"Sir?" Mitch asked, turning back around, "May I face him before the squadron? We could use the new weapon, test it out."  
Aidam considered this, but he knew Mitch was already past being capable, so he sighed and said, "Very well."  
  
Mr. Kaaz was having "fun", crushing and incinerating a few cars, then bending many a lamppost by his will. Growing tired of this, he found the rarest of bums in a darkened alleyway. He pounced after him, landing halfway onto one of the grates emitting smoke and steam. The bum yelped and fled as if Satin were on his tail.  
"Cinder!" Cinder turned toward the voice coming through the mist from the sewer vents. "Come so that I may send you to hell!" He came through the mist.  
He was only a boy, possible in his early twenties. But his suit still fit him perfectly. His forearms had three jutting half-oval crystal add-ons, which were radiating a low glow. The same was all around his shins, four on each. Black gauntlets, with smaller versions of the crystal lining the fingers covering his hands. The rest of his suit was layered with armor and leather and a few loose strands of cloth. An electronic headband with a few flashing lights was all that was on his face.   
"You dare challenge me? You're only human, you have no power against me."  
"That's what technology's for." Mitch spread his legs out and went closer to crouch position. The crystal became a neon gold. With his enhanced legs and thinking, he sped and delivered the first punch with his right.  
Cinder shook a little from the impact, then looked down at Mitch. "Oh, that really hurt." He said in a sarcastic tone.  
Mitch cranked a dial on his right arm; the crystal became a hot green. He brought his arm back out and threw it back in. This time, Cinder blocked, but you could tell he was struggling. Mitch was constantly tapping his palm with his middle finger, bringing his strength to 40 to 1, in increments of 5 for each tap on his left hand. "This should." Crunch!  
His other fist went under his right and into the chestplate, making the armor shatter. Cinder rocketed out of the alley and into a street lamp; it bent around him on impact. In annoyance, Cinder grabbed it, yanked from him, and hurled it at his assailant. The boy easily "roundhoused" it in two, sped forward, simultaneously bringing both arms to 40/1, and sucker punched the mutant, flinging him into open traffic.  
Cinder used his momentum and sprang up further in the air, landing on the other side of the street. Mitchell watched the moving traffic, waiting to cross, and caught Cinder's taunting gestures. Fine. Here goes. He punched the switches and buttons on his boots, waited a few seconds, and sprang up and high over the traffic. Cinder's eyes bulged, following him flip once forward before landing directly in front of him.  
"Happy?" Mitch asked.  
"Very." Cinder said, and immediately tried to attack. Mitchell ducked and hooked with both fists to the gut, then face. But Cinder retaliated and socked him in the chestplate.   
Mitch felt the force, and flew the length of the street and farther aways, his arms digging trenches in the concrete and pavement. But he was not in pain. He looked himself over again; he was fine. I'd better thank Maron profusely if I live through this. Shock absorbers, I love it!  
A semi truck passed in front of them, and Mitchell was in the air before it had passed. He landed on Cinder diagonally, pummeling him to the ground and digging a similar trench. When he had skidded to a stop, Mitch, with his heightened kicking strength, punted the chin.   
Cinder's body continued the trench until he arched over the side of the oil-lifting terrace.  
Mitch caught Cinder's arm and armed his other cannon cylinder. "Watch it. Hell might have frozen over for the time being, but please, give me an excuse to kill you."  
His grin reappeared and he yanked with his held arm, hurling Mitch over the side. He easily floated back up to the edge. Mitchell fell the distance, struggling in the air to get his feet facing the ground. Slam! He sunk into the floor, a radius of four feet crumbling and sinking in with him. Even though the boots absorbed most of the shock, the youth was still shaken. But he got his instincts back in time. Whirling around, he got Cinder back in his sights. The topmost crystal on his right arm opened up to reveal a force cannon. Commence firing.  
The blast connected squarely in Cinder's back, weakening him as two more shots pummeled his shoulders. Mitch aimed a little lower, and blew apart his footing. Still weakened by the first blasts, Cinder did not bother to fly out of the fall and crunched into the pavement. He slowly got to his knees.  
Mitch opened his left cannon and commenced rapid fire into the new crevice. Stone and ash flew everywhere. The smoke clouds billowed up high into the sky, mixing into the wind. Cinder's figure rocketed up and out of the smoke, some gray dregs hanging from his armor. Mitch charged his feet, and matched the move, pursuing with ten times the speed of what he was used to.  
The chase was fierce, Cinder projecting to any rooftop he could find, then dropping randomly to the ground as to throw off his pursuer. But every time he tried to pull away, he found this human at his heels.   
Mitch was enjoying it, but he knew the procedure now, and the time was closing. He saw the opportunity and whispered to his mike, "He's in the North Sector point. Go now." Cinder had reached the side of another medium brick building, gouging his claws into the side and half climbing half flying up it. Halfway up, he stopped, sensing no more presence near him. Turning around, the streets were empty. I've lost them. He resumed and propelled the remaining distance over the side onto the top.  
  
Mitch and Aidam stood tall and proud, watching the warlord's ascension with adrenal anticipation. Mitchell could hardly contain his impulses to scream and open fire, now knowing at least some of the force he held all over his body. Cinder was last to notice he had been duped, however, and hardly showed emotion. He simply powered up and charged two fireballs.  
"Not. So. Fast." Aidam said.  
  
The cruisers rose from each alley, their thundering song and rapid rhythm of engines offering the only music in the night; the only prelude to chaos.  
"You needed reinforcements, you weaklings!?" Cinder scoffed at Aidam and Mitchell.  
Aidam ignored his taunt, "Cinder Kaaz, you are in direct violation of every code we have to insure peace. Prepare to be chastised!" He waved to the captain of a far cruiser. The cruiser had its Cyclone batteries armed momentarily. All other cruisers followed suit.   
Cinder turned to each ship as its guns armed, at each one growing more and more disgruntled. At last, the final gun armed, everyone waited. Aidam knew this was right, at this moment, he had proven his point. All his pilots had no fear, knowing that their weapon would harm the target strongly. Yes, they were nervous, but they weren't afraid.  
The gattling guns rattled off their rounds. Cinder was no longer there, but soaring over them in a high leap. Most of the ships followed and stopped firing, but one particular pilot kept going. From his cockpit he saw the warlord's red, single-winged body follow his ascension, cylinders blaring, and he let out a roar of desperation over the Tac Net, "Come oooooon!" as his cruiser went upside down and he maneuvered enough to crash sideways, caught on the edge of the roof.  
"Pilot! Are you injured?" Aidam yelled over the Tac.  
"Fine, sir, just letting my heart rate return to normal." He returned quickly.  
Cinder disappeared down the dark chasm of brick. "Commence operation Vertigo! Don't lose him!" Aidam called into his mike. He nodded to Mitchell, who nodded back, and they charged opposite ways. Aidam unsheathed his own force blaster; a small, cylindrical barrel with a few odd markings, but nothing more unusual than that.  
  
Trunks watched the city from the Direct spire, looking intently at nothing in particular. "He's going to go too far, he already has, in the middle of the evacuation traffic." He paused, thinking, "I have to do something." But the moment he turned, the Headmaster was there, hovering ghostly around him.  
"You doubt Aidam's abilities, I see." His voice emitted from within the bionic metal.  
"I don't doubt his intentions, though, he's just carrying it out wrong." He shouldered past him.  
"Take your sword!" the Headmaster called back without looking.  
"Already way ahead of you!" Trunks stormed off.  
  
The air outside was dank with the faint smell of ash. The wind had blown the scent of battle near here. Trunks looked around to see there was no one watching, then powered up and bolted toward the scent.  
  
"Men, we have him!" the Lieutenant called, "Ready." His squad, the Terra, brandished their weapons, creating a column of soldiers to block Cinder's path. "Aim." Their crosshairs found their target. "Fire at will!"  
They spread out, sectioning off Cinder's escape routes with laser fire. The warlord took off around the only open corner. A flash of cloth and steel danced into his way. The figure had medium-length purplish silver hair, and a fine goatee. He was standing low, spread out, daring him to pass. And something about his eyes, blue and silver reflections, which struck the fanatic fear felt against an opponent: when you know you can't win.  
The squad had caught up and readied their weapons once more. Cinder whirled back to find nothing but a small dust cloud lifting off. He tore his arm back to the squad, loosing a fireball the size of a basketball.   
The first of the squadron ducked for cover, but the Lieutenant was left staring dumbly at death. Aidam tackled him in time, and, from the ground, blazed several shots. The fear of the rest dissipated and they flared as well. Cinder roared and took flight, landing somewhere in the distance. "Spread!" Aidam ordered, "Go in groups from now on." He added with a quick glance to the Lieutenant.  
He charged down another street, following his instinct as best he could. He donned his visor and looked through the wall. He saw a shape and took aim.  
The blasts penetrated the brick with ease and began to follow the red behemoth. This lasted until he realized where they were coming from...  
He saw the blast coming and dove to the right, fire and smoke filling where he once was. Landing on his side, he fired into the smoke and heard loud footsteps. Two paratroopers landed near him to cover. They heard the crash of breaking glass.  
  
Cinder lifted himself up from the shards and stared into the small barrel of a force pistol. "Hold it right there, you disgusting red monkey." Leon taunted over the barrel.  
The "red monkey" growled, but then received a shot in the shoulder, bellowed, and swung his backhand before galloping away. Leon fell out of the way, nearly getting his head knocked off.  
"Men!" Aidam called on his troopers, "Head after him!" Then, he hoisted himself up and dashed over to where Leon lay, "Are you alright."  
Leon didn't answer right away, but instead looked up at a trooper flying over him and into the nearest lamppost.   
"Aidam! Duck!" the blast seared over the councilman, and Leon returned fire with six well placed shots. The fifth struck the thigh.   
"You alright." Aidam asked, wiping himself off.  
"Yeah, fine. You?"  
"Yeah, did you hit him?"  
"In the thigh, I think." Leon calculated.  
"Good call. Thanks. Now let's go get that bastard." Aidam started off, but Leon stopped him for a moment.  
"Heh, it's kinda' funny, heheh, that I'm helping you." His eyes maneuvered into his, "You who, inadvertently, tried to assassinate my brother and multitudes of others." He whispered, "Trevor told me."  
"I-I am so sorry, God, I am sorry." Aidam whispered back.  
"You're doing this to make up for yourself aren't you?"  
Aidam didn't answer.  
"Well, it's working. NOW let's go get that bastard." Leon smiled lightly.  
"Agreed."   
They jogged side by side, then spread slightly. Now more comfortable, Aidam conversed over the headset, "You've got a pretty nice shot for a civilian. You want a job?"  
"Ha! Give me a sword and I'm in."  
"A sword, huh? I think we may have some of those in stock for you." Aidam noted the one hanging from his own belt. But the warlord had not gone far, shouts and gunfire leading them to his spot.   
  
Cinder was surrounded, all the remaining squads had found him, and Aidam and Leon closed the only gap he had left. That final gap was the one he attacked. He went for Leon first.  
Panic slithered into Leon's reaction time and sped it up, firing off as many singeing blasts as he possibly could. Cinder cried in pain, but did not stop, and in one swipe had sliced the gun in two. But six bolts in his back stopped his advance and turned his wrath on Aidam. The squadron got the idea, and, one by one, they fired on him, drawing his anger upon them, farther and farther away from the surveyor.  
It did not take Cinder long to realize the scheme, though, and he charged an immense fireball with both hands, turned, and hurled it at Leon.   
Aidam unhitched his sword.   
"Leon!" he whacked the sheath out, propelling sword hilt first to the Surveyor, who caught it and swung with experience into the blast. It reflected off, but Leon was still shaken profusely.   
Aidam watched Cinder's shape leap from its spot, fly over his head, while firing at it, and land on the end of the building. Cinder dashed for his life.  
Mitchell charged up, but stopped behind Aidam's stiff left arm; the councilman aimed with his right. The beam fired. It cut through red flesh; clean through. Another lifeless wing spasmed to the pavement and Cinder screamed in agony as blood spilled onto the black street.   
They followed, but all stopped behind an outstretched sword. Trunks appeared from the shadows. "That's enough, you've proven your point."  
"But he's getting away!" Mitchell screamed.  
"There are residencies that way, I don't want a warzone to happen there."  
"But what about-  
"I'll take care of it." When he noticed Aidam ready to question again, gestured, "I know where to find him, you don't." and with that, he vanished.  
  



	3. Rain

Chapter 3  
Rain  
  
"Are you sure this is a wise decision, to bring Torik into this, something could happen, go wrong." Syria leaned on the desk, placing the weight on her palms.  
"Torik is young, skilled, and capable. He's studied the workings of the force mechanism almost more than I have, he'll be fine."  
"I'm not worried about Torik, I'm worried about you. I don't want you to lose anything." Syria said with care.  
Aidam swiveled his chair around, "What are you implying? That because of my decisions I'm going to lose the life of my son?"  
Syria stood and crossed her arms tightly, "That's what I'm afraid of, yes." Aidam stood and began toward her slowly, "I just have a bad feeling about this, like something's somehow controlling you."  
Aidam stopped, thinking about that last sentence. He decided to change the subject. "The Force mechanism is on the verge of ratification, I need you here for the rest of the week to monitor the goings-on, can you do that."  
Syria gave a swift nod, almost grateful of the change. Aidam nodded back and left the room. When the door had slid shut, she whispered, "Good luck, sir."  
  
"You failed, that's all, cut and dry, you failed." Shane had been expressing the same point for the last hour, but it was still strong.  
Aidam slammed his hands on the table, "We seared off his second wing! We caused damage to him. And for once none of them feared their enemy."  
"Are you suggesting that we have petty fear among the ranks?" Hyle ordered.  
"Not petty, councilman, only a simple realization that are incapable of doing a single thing, so why try and die for it." Aidam calmed down, once again pleased with his position, "They realized lead bullets couldn't do a damn thing. But now that the Force mechanism-  
"You and your damn Force mechanism!" another young and newly capable councilman had joined only a week ago. His name was Christopher Sein. His wavy blond hair complimented similar eyes.   
"Explain your outburst, councilman." Shane ordered.  
"I've studied your comings and shortcomings with this generator, Mr. Stronkhold, and frankly, if we ratify this, we all go to hell." Chris had now just proven he didn't care about authority, especially not Aidam's. "The moment this power is released, criminals will get a hold of it and then we will have another repeat of the gang wars, I doubt you want that to happen, right?"  
Hyle stood as well, given the courage by Chris' outburst, "I agree with Christopher. I for one do not want to be linked to the cause of a war. We may be Direct, but we're not invincible of receiving more hate than we already have."  
"Gentlemen, sit." Said a firm voice. Simon had descended from the ceiling again, realizing the heating argument. Chris and Hyle, however, did respect the authority of this headmaster, and obediently sat. "All of us are worn. I suggest we take a recess from this argument and get out heads in the right place. Not on far-off conclusions." His electric blue synthesized eyes glanced in Chris' direction. "Five hour recess. All opposed?"  
No one shook their head or raised a hand.  
  
Aidam exited the meeting first, followed closely by Trunks, who stopped him. "Aidam, you know this is a futile mission. With the hot-heads in there and Shane and even myself...Well," he rested his hand gently on Aidam's shoulder, smiling as if to say I know you have no chance, "Just end this, and the rest will work out."  
Aidam looked at the hand, and shrugged and brushed it off. "You should know by now, that nothing I ever do is futile."  
"You honestly believe you can win this?"  
"The just will win out." Aidam said confidently and continued walking.  
"And you would call yourself just?" Trunks called after him.  
Aidam stopped and turned, "Yes. Yes, I do." And he disappeared down the corridor. Trunks glared after him.  
  
At about five o'clock the skies were darkening tremendously fast. At five fifteen, they were nearly black, but the streets had not become wet yet.  
Two stood by the familiar warehouse, the familiar lamppost. "So, now both of us have had a grueling battle with Cinder and have ended up shaken by it." Kane commented.  
Leon leaned on the opposite side of the post, "Yeah." He paused, "Do you ever think he'll be back?"  
"It doesn't matter to me." Kane shook his head. Their conversation was interrupted by the panicked yells of a woman and her purse. The common thief ran toward them, almost laughing. Kane exerted the least amount of energy and protruded his toe, tripping the thief to his face. The purse skidded aways further.  
Kane's voice directed itself to Leon, "Mind returning that possession to the lady?" Leon went to get it. As he did so, Kane picked up the man at the scruff of his jacket and threw him into the adjacent alley. You could hear cries of mercy and a few crunching bones.  
  
Leon returned the purse to the woman. She thanked him and hurried off. But the boy dashed back to the alley and saw the man dropped, balling up and crying softly. "You're just like Cinder, you're just as cruel!" Leon yelled at Kane when he exited the alley and began walking away. "But then, you don't really care do you?"  
Kane continued walking, but called, "I'm not paid enough to care."  
  
Bra's house was large to say the least, approximately four stories, but she wasn't rich. The quality of money didn't have any true power in the world of Factions.   
On the bottom-most floor there was a soft knocking at the door. Luckily, Bra was there at the time. It was Aidam, and he was shifting his weight nervously as she opened the door. It was about 5:30 in the afternoon, so any Direct councilmen had been adjourned to the city or their quarters.   
"Ah, Mr. Stronkhold, to what do I owe this honor?" she invited him in.  
He walked slowly in, feeling quite awkward, but he looked around at the accommodations. "I can see why you haven't considered taking one of the quarters within Direct." He grinned.  
"Aidam," she cut to the chase, "I am kind of busy, though, so, what's your reason for coming?"  
"Well, uh," he started shifting weight again and twiddling around. Bra giggled shortly at his nervousness, "I was, just, coming by to, uh, check, if you were, uh, alright." He finally got out. "So are you okay?"  
"Why?"  
"Uh, because this was where Cinder was around and I was just checking, yeah." He was becoming a very minute amount less nervous. He could debate his way out of most anything, but he could not, for the life of him, have a normal conversation outside of business.  
"Do you think he's really gone?" Bra asked with concern.  
"Yes." He answered confidently, "And if he reappears, we're more than ready for him." He had rehearsed that; it was easy to tell, because he then reverted back to his stumbling speech, "So, uh, I guess I'll be on my way."  
Aidam made it to the door before Bra's voice stopped him. "Catch!" he turned and caught an umbrella, stared at it awhile, then opened the door, noticing it was now raining since he had arrived. "Oh, and Aidam?" he turned back to her, the door still open. "Since you seem to be playing this by ear, I suggest you hear this. I'm not a princess trapped in a tower in need of a knight in shining armor. I don't need to be rescued. I can fire a gun, I can wield a sword, and I know how to street fight, so don't worry."   
"But, I do." He said softly, almost surprised with himself.  
"And that's sweet of you." Then she added forcefully, "But don't." Aidam left, closing the door very gently.  
  
The Direct building was silent, feeling the pounding rhythms of the rain. Wing and Enforcer were never the noisiest of places. The perch atop the pyramid-like Vengeance was occupied by its supporter, who once again opened his helmet in the shadows, and let the rain pour over and cleanse his darkened face.  
  
Trunks' quarters were the most barren, only one weapon rack left on his table, empty.  
  
Bra's house had a fourth story with a ceiling of glass full of old relics and swords, even some of Trunks' old things. Her brother stormed in and began to rummage through the closets. She watched him come in, as she was tending to a flower in the dark room.  
"Why hello, big brother, come to visit, maybe have a drink?" Bra said happily.  
"Sorry, sis, can't stay, just getting my coat to go warlord hunting." He yanked out the blue jacket, where a few broken stitches could barely make out the word "Capsule".  
"But Aidam said-  
"Aidam can lie his ass off, but it doesn't change the fact that he's still out there. Hiding, waiting for the time to resurface and cause more pain." He stopped, looking down at his sword, as if he didn't know whether to take it or not. "I never thought it would come to this. Damn it, I shouldn't have left it up to him."  
"Why can't you just not go?" Bra spat at her brother. Trunks whirled on her. She wasn't surprised; "This isn't your responsibility. Let someone else-  
"If only you knew what things I'm responsible for." Trunks said coldly, shouldered his weapon, and walked out. Bra glared after him.  
  
The rain poured down in sheets, as if the clouds were Niagara Falls, filling the streets and gutters. The average man trudged knee deep through puddles to his home or work. Trunks simply flew over them.  
He landed on a roof of an old apartment building, where massive signs and billboards had been erected that now made it look like an arena, serving as its perimeter. The rain was flowing over the side, it had filled so much.   
Trunks drew his blade, his reflection showing across it as it was unsheathed. Grasping in both hands, he called into the wind, "I know you're here. Show yourself."  
There was a crack of thunder and lightning, then Cinder leapt from the far billboard onto the roof, causing massive ripples in the water. A huge trident was held in both of his hands. Trunks readied his body for battle.  
Trunks sped forward, his sword trailing behind him, and flew into the air. His blade came down upon Cinder's shaft. For the first second, it felt like a sword. For the next, it felt like a thousand colliding trains. With each continuing blow, the water around them blew away, then came quickly back. Twenty-eight separate blows were dealt from each warrior, then both leapt back.   
Cinder twirled his spear until fire ignited across its point, then threw the fireball from it; Trunks held his ground. The fireball exploded on direct targeting, the water around evaporated in a forth of a second. Then, there was silence as the smoke rose. Suddenly, Trunks charged out like a demon surging from the fires of hell, sword in front, the smoke riding across and over him. His strike was clear and fast. Sssssshhhhtwing!  
The top part of the trident whisked into the air and imbedded itself in the back of the farthest billboard. Cinder stared in rage at the assailant. His anger drove him into his deep fires. That fire released itself from him, causing an ever-growing perimeter of water to evaporate around him.  
  
"I never expected this strength." The comment belonged to a five-foot-tall masked warrior, covered in thick, layered armor. The shoulders protruded out slightly more than the rest of the suit.  
"Why, is my teacher scared?" the apprentice was close to eight feet tall, with similar gold, silver, and black armor. The chest was silver-plated, while the arms, shoulders, helmet, and legs shone the gold. Then, of course, his skintight armor cloth was the black.   
"It's only a simple observation, Sesix." The master returned calmly.  
The one named Sesix gloated to his master, "Is that what you were doing when you ransacked that movie theater?"  
The armor-clad warrior was unmoved; "I was testing them. Most of them are weak, unexpecting." He whirled on his apprentice, guessing what he was thinking, "But be warned, they have guardians," he cocked his head to Trunks, "he's one of them. The one I fought knew common and tactical techniques, even his own version of a Kamayhamayha."  
"Whatever." He nodded toward the battle on the roof, adding angrily, "Why doesn't he just attack? Cinder's wide open, he could split him in two. Why wait for your opponent to reach his highest power?"  
"It's called honor, young Sesix. Perhaps he's trying to prove something."  
"Yeah, to who?" Sesix asked indignantly.  
"Perhaps himself."   
  
"Heeerrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!" Cinder unleashed the force, all the water around him that had not been burned away became multiple mini tidal waves exploding outward. Trunks brought his sword forward and cut the wave down the middle, having it cascade over the roof on either side of him.  
Cinder's face was contorted even further with his full power; he looked mad. Crimson fire orbs formed on each hand. "Now. You. Die." He rasped out. Then fired furiously.  
The orbs closed in. But then time seemed to stop. Trunks could see the five orbs frozen in the air before him. With one hand, one blue orb of his own grew from the palm and positioned itself in front of one fire orb. He repeated the process until each flame had another orb to run into. Trunks then floated silently and slowly just above the highest orb...and time resumed.  
Each orb connected with its counterpart and exploded, but kept its momentum, creating a brilliant river of fire flowing beneath Trunks' feet. Hands smoking, lungs raspy, Cinder gazed forward then up. "My turn." Was all Trunks had to say. He never changed position. Never hunched; his legs remained relaxed and hanging, only his arms moved. His figure descended diagonally, blurring itself. Wwwhhhshtingsth!  
The slash was faster than any eye; only its luminous blue trail could be seen for a millisecond. Cinder felt something, a distant thing, coming closer and closer rapidly. "I made a promise." Trunks murmured, not breaking stance. Cinder's eyes looked down to his waist, saw a split forming, and quickly looked back up. "I had to keep it."  
Todd "Cinder" Kaaz fell back. He splashed into the new forming pool. There were two splashes.   
  



	4. Force

Chapter 4  
Force  
  
  
"Today begins a new era of heroism." Aidam began his speech, the ratification process more than necessary. "Our fears and anxieties once ruled our judgement. As humans, we have always hope to strive toward change or actually doing something to change an outcome for the better, but recently our helplessness has stopped that instinct." The backboard lit up with footage from the Demonstration; the camera work was choppy and wavered, but still had the desired effect. A few surprised gasps fluttered over the audience, and Christopher simply crossed his arms and regarded the tape. "Now, the new Era is to be known as the Force Era. The Force mechanism has already revolutionized the military, now we must let it revolutionize our hearts as well." Shane coughed loudly at this, but not many seemed to notice. "It has given us back our reason to fight and alter the lives of our foes and ourselves. In other words, a piece of our humanity has been revived. Together, let us use it to defend and free the future." He finished, and stepped down.  
The Manager returned to the podium and announced, "I do hope you'll all join us at the reception this evening in the Officers' Hall."  
  
Shane clapped hollowly along with a score of other councilman, but he noticed their softness lacked one who was profoundly standing and walking loudly out of the room. Shane got up a little more quietly.  
Trunks trudged and stomped over the hall, his cloak billowing behind him. Shane dashed up, "Trunks-  
He barely let him say a word before he blew up, "WHY? No, tell me, why?!" he gestured to the outside, "I killed Cinder on my own, and he gets rewarded. Why did this have to be ratified after all the damage they caused??"  
"They recorded the entire battle, Trunks, edited it, and released it to the public as an add campaign for their military. It was immediately ratified because everyone knew about it already." Shane wasn't done, he noticed Trunks unconvinced and still being stubborn with himself. "His gun cut off Cinder's other wing. That clip is a heavy favorite, by the way. They cut as good as your sword. The military likes, the people like, and god forbid if we get in a war, we sure as well are going to need it." Shane shoved his index finger at Trunks, bearing down on him, "And what you need to get in your head is that this is done, it has happened, accept it." Shane turned away and was silent, staring at nothing, almost disbelieving on how he just acted.  
Trunks was silent and unmoving for some time, then he frowned and grumbled, "Like you should talk."  
"Pardon?" Shane asked darkly.  
"Heh, you hate him as much as I do."  
"Possibly." Shane nodded, then looked up at his comrade, "But at least I know when to stop being a kid with his petty fights." And he departed to his quarters.  
  
Hyle caught Shane halfway to his quarters. "Hey, did you hear the news?" he chimed excitedly.  
"Hyle," Shane began slowly, "I was in the room, not two rows in front of you, I think I would know about the ratification."  
Hyle stopped him in the hall, "Hey, don't think I'm ignorant because I'm new, I'm not talking about that." He continued walking. Shane noticed now a folder clutched tightly in Hyle's left hand.  
"What's that?" Shane pointed.  
"This," Hyle lifted it, opened it, and flipped through a few files, "is a collection of progress reports of a certain individual in the Infiltration Training Facility in Africa."  
"Hmm, let me guess, Aidam's son?" Hyle nodded. "Now, what was his name?" Shane thought.  
Hyle looked back to the folder, "Torik."  
"Ah, yes, Torik Stronkhold." Shane turned his attention back to Hyle, "And what has caused this sudden interest in a young successor?"  
Hyle snapped the folder shut and returned it to his side, smiling broadly, "He's here."   
"Wha-What?" Shane had to run it over in his mind a few more times.  
"Yep, just what I had said when Chris told me." Hyle smiled even more broadly, "I wonder if Trunks knows."  
"Where is he?"  
The young councilman stopped him at the door to one of the intersections of the basement and pointed. A lone private was standing in the middle of the three paths, reading a document clutched in his hand. The private had dark blond hair, combed nicely, but still unable to hide its youth, with one prominent hair hanging out over his forehead. "Ask that private what he thinks of the ratification, and he'll tell you exactly where Torik is."  
Shane gave him a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look. "Just trust me." Hyle answered and shoved him forward. The older councilman looked back, then rolled his eyes and sighed.  
"What do you think of the ratification process, private?" Shane approached him.  
"It's amazing sir."  
"What?...Is so amazing about a destructive power being ratified, private?"  
"The spirit sir." The private focused his answer, and Shane waited. "Almost....well, twenty-thousand men and women have signed up voluntarily, all focused on Force specialist positions. It's like something ignited their courage when footage of the Demonstration was released. They saw what they could do, even against an enemy like Cinder."  
"A fine analysis of opinion, private. What is your name?"  
"Oh." He stiffened and saluted, "Private Torik Stronkhold sir."  
"Ah, so you're Aidam's successor, I see. I've heard a lot about you." He shot a glance at Hyle waiting at the door. The young councilman grinned.  
Torik grinned at the title. "You could say that. I'd prefer student."  
"Back early from training?" Shane asked casually.  
"Uh," Torik surprisingly hesitated, his answer stumbling, "I, uh, decided to-  
"I thought the Infiltration training only permitted you out when you were done, which would mean you would be back about..." Hyle looked at his folder, "well, in about three more weeks."  
"Well, private?" Shane waited.  
"Aidam cleared it." He said in a rush. "He doesn't normally like expressing the fact that-  
"How'd he get clearance?" Hyle had made his way over.  
"He has his ways." Torik said this quietly, but still straightforward, then abruptly left. Shane and Hyle began walking at equal pace again.  
  
The wooden pillars grew out of the holes in the floor, extending their pole arms and beginning spin. Trunks' arm knocked against the first pole, altering its course to spinning the other way. The process continued as six more pillars rose. Trunks' was going faster, and faster, and he hadn't even gone SSJ yet.   
He began breaking them. Growing so angry that the weakest punch shattered the wood into pixels. A massive, seven-armed rose directly behind him. He whirled. "Kamayhamayhaaaa!" it torched.  
"Having fun?" It was Bra.  
Trunks watched the charred wood crumble into nothingness.  
"Getting out your anger?"  
"Perhaps." Trunks murmured.   
"There's a reception in the Officers' Hall where you could be having the time of your life. But, then again, you never have fun."  
"I don't dance well." He rushed out.  
"Pff! Big deal, you can TALK to people!" she cupped her hands around her mouth to amplify the sound, "That's why it's called a SOCIAL EVENT!"  
"You don't know what real "fun" is, Bra."  
"Oh, well, I wouldn't mind a lesson from the master of it standing before me." She hopped down the stairs.  
"It isn't about that."  
"Ah, of course, you're back to being the small boy."  
"I'm not a child!" he screamed.  
"Yes. You are. And you know it, don't you?" she took a few steps up.  
Trunks didn't speak.  
"I know what it is." She got closer to his face, her tone growing very serious. "You keep going like this, you keep hating, you never let go. Just so on that fateful day that Aidam disappears, and you can say, 'I never liked him' or 'I knew he was bad all along'. And you can wallow in your glory and announce to the world 'I was right. I did the right thing to hate him'." Her voice had grown louder in her speech, but it grew calmly serious again. "But what if that day never comes, Trunks, huh? What if at every great accomplishment Aidam makes in his lifetime you slunk down here and fight some wooden poles and ask the Eternal Dragon, God, or whoever else you blame of why he did something you couldn't stop? And this room becomes your only Sanctuary, your only escape from the rest of us who realize how petty you are." Trunks had been looking at Bra, nearly glaring, crouched, leaning on his sword.   
Bra started back up the stairs, still looking down on her elder brother. "So you think about that, little boy, you continue to be the whiny kid with the lost father. I, on the other hand, am going upstairs. Aidam has asked me for a dance, and I haven't given an answer yet." Trunks' eyes flashed, "I think I'll say yes." Trunks half stood. Bra noticed, "And if you don't like it, you can take one of splinters you so nicely made and, well, you know where to stick it."   
Slam!  
She was gone. Trunks was silent for a long time, but at the next ascending pole, he whirled with a roar and his sword crunched through the center of the shaft.  
  
"All I'm saying is that you shouldn't have done it." Savi said.  
"Well, what about you?"  
The master put his hands up to quiet his apprentice, "Fine, we're even. I screwed up at the cinema, and you should have left Cinder where he was." Savi walked past the tall Sesix.  
"Hey he pleaded with me. I had the power to get him free, so-  
"And what did you get? What did he give you?"  
"Uh, gratitude?" Sesix experimented.  
"He gave you chaos, and that's what you wanted. You wanted to see how these humans dealt with it."  
"Naw, that was just an added bonus."  
"And what about that warlord being sliced in two as well?" Savi questioned.  
"Yet another bonus." Sesix nodded, then laughed.  
Savi was to him in a millionth of a second, freezing him in his place, "Someday your lust for death and destruction will get you killed. That day may be sooner than you think."  
Sesix freed himself and laughed harder, "And when would be your estimate?"  
"How about TODAY!" a deep voice had risen behind the two observers, and they whirled to find a city guardian regarding them. The guardian was the one called Vengeance, with crimson black suit covering and gold claws/gloves ranging from his arms. The face was masked, and a brilliant display of four flexible cape/wings protruded from the back of his armor.  
Without warning he whipped one arm up and fired a blue energy blast, singing toward Savi. It sang through his image, the projection fading. Savi looked on from a roof aways in the distance. "Ah," Vengeance started, "Good," he turned to the surprised Sesix, "Your master is quite equipped and alert."  
"Why do you think he's training me, huh?"  
"Yes, indeed." Vengeance sighed, "I wonder how his student fares."  
"You'll see, old man." Sesix dashed forward and swiped several times. Vengeance ducked only once, and sliced open with his claws just under the sternum of the apprentice's armor. He never grooved into skin, but he created the nook for his grasp and easily lifted the now flailing Sesix up, then turned and hurled him to the black sky. Now, with both hands, Vengeance unleashed a three-blast volley at the disappearing dot.  
Savi was at the dot, then gone, disappearing with his apprentice to safety. Vengeance watched him go, "Someday indeed." Then brought two fingers to his helmet and spoke more softly. "Yes, Jon, cancel the case, I know who did it. I'll give you the recording. But be warned, these guys have immense power, I suggest extreme caution if we take action." He removed his fingers and took flight into the darkening sky.  
  
Aidam sat at his desk, watching the clouding sky, when Shane entered. Aidam stood at his entrance.  
"Not a business trip, Aidam, just had to ask you something." He said.  
"Shoot." Aidam returned, sitting.  
"Are you pleased with yourself?" the question was not harsh sounding, nor was it aimed to be.  
Aidam grinned, "Pleased? Yes, but not with myself."  
"Glad to see you're being modest."  
"Is that the only question you had for me?"  
Shane could have said something to the effect of an insult, but however tempting it was, he suppressed the urge and nodded, turning to go.  
"Oh, Shane, here." He gestured a Force gun to him, similar to his own. "They're being distributed all over the building, I suggest you take this one."  
Shane shook his head and said with purpose, "I am a chancellor, I am not prone to violence."  
Aidam's eyes locked onto him as he spoke, "There is still hostility all over during this movement. When you leave this building, there is still violence." He glared even more intently on Shane, "Take the gun."  
The Chancellor's hand twitched ever so slightly, then clenched. Shane stiffened and stood taller, taking a deep breath through his nose while he rose. "I am a man of my word, Aidam, and so are you."  
"I never took that oath."  
"And for that I pity your heart." He left quickly and proudly, the words he had wanted to say for so long finally said.  
  
  



	5. The Hunt

Chapter 5  
The Hunt  
  
The mist and fog settled its blanket in the corridor street, then parted as a cloaked figure appeared and ran with all his speed toward another goal.  
(This is not a team effort)  
The man in the black coat emitted something, a small object, possibly a hilt, from within his cloak, and white smoke flowed from it as an extended scimitar/Murasame hybrid sword grew out of the white, miraculously attached to that hilt.  
(It is a bending of your trust...)  
The one called Slate finally found where he was running and swung his sword up to reflect a short-range laser blast.  
(...in each other)  
Arsen continued firing on both cylinders, but Slate being profusely annoyed by the attack, slashed up with his massive blade and cut one barrel in two. Arsen retreated, still firing as he backed off into the opening of the maze of winding corridors and rooftops. Slate reflected only one shot before flipping up and out of the range of two other slashes from a smaller sword.  
Lathe drew his other blade and continued to duel with Slate's longsword with one, and reflect Arsen's countless point blank blasts with the other.  
The major crosshair found its home upon them.  
Hammer, the colossal gun's owner, was by far the oldest of the group, at 38 years, and Arsen by least the youngest at 17 years. He speculated that Slate was somewhere in the middle. That thought being wasted, he pulled the trigger.  
Lathe sensed it first and leapt high and fast, legs straight and together, while each sword arm was stiff and out on either side for perfect balance as he executed two consecutive back flips out of the radius of the blast. Slate and Arsen sprang in opposite directions.  
There was a pause in the action: anticipation. Then they heard it.  
Fsfsfssffsfsfsfsfsfsfsfsfsfsfsfsfsfsfsfsfsfs! It sang with death and spun with fury. Hammer sensed it coming, nearly hoisting his leg out of the way as it cut the roof from under him, causing him to cascade to the grass. The others also took evasive maneuvers: Arsen fell to his knees and arched his back to the ground; Lathe flattened on the grass; Slate ducked, but his four-meter-long sword didn't quite make it and sparks flew as the two blades skidded across each other.  
A fast arm caught the spinning scythe and its owner spun into view, brandishing it as an electrical current surged and circulated into the blade, making its tribal markings glow. When the rest noticed that Scythe had joined the fight, he was ready for all hell.   
Scythe was dressed similar to Slate, except his cloak was short and hung longer over his shoulders, and his undercoat had a blue/black tint. He tore into the fray, first piking Arsen down with boot, then charging into his lifelong rival. Lathe positioned himself behind Scythe, trying to get in a hit.  
While dealing with Slate from the front, he maneuvered the butt end to knock away both of Lathe's short swords and punt him in the chin, while blocking blows from Slate, then all his focus went to his rival. He blocked following this pattern, then struck: left, top, right, bottom, left, right, left, right, top, whirl and then strike. Slate dodged just in time, a clean tear down his cloak.  
Lathe appeared from nowhere to the left, and began swinging furiously, ceasing Slate's assault momentarily. His opponent dodged each swing as if he anticipated it.  
Scythe swung the scythe up, blade first for weight, and let it fly like a vertical Frisbee. The end cut into shoulder and the butt followed through to knock Lathe down. Much like spinning a hool-o-hoop, it returned to its owner, who spun around to receive Slate's colossal blade crashing down upon the shaft middle of his weapon.  
The young assassin slid the scythe down one way, so his curved blade caught the scimitar and dragged it down to one side while he lifted his left leg and punted Slate to the ground. Unhooking his weapon from the scimitar, he sprinted toward the nearest brick wall. Arsen fired to his back.  
Scythe zigzagged away from four shots, then reached the wall, and twirled his scythe around and up so the blade covered his head, reflecting a fifth shot. Piking the end into the ground, he jumped up, and turned, making himself completely upside down and pushed up, vaulting himself over the wall and onto the roof.  
He landed with his shaft behind him and extensive alertness in his stance. His eyes found the figure on the other end.  
The figure was male, and dressed in a buttonless suit with a tight collar, more similar to a voodoo priest gone techno. He showed his hands spread, palms to him, and within seconds, various knives and daggers "grew" from between the fingers. He clenched his hands to grasp them all, and worked one between his index finger and thumb, poised to throw.  
  
Slate repositioned his sword. Lathe reconfigured his bloodied shoulder, picking up his second sword. The two duelists began to circle.  
Hammer and Arsen dueled with each other as well. Hammer fired a few shots, while Arsen dashed forward away from one, skidded, then flipped backward away from another, returning fire in the air.  
Slate and Lathe clashed furiously as if they were about cut out each other's throats.  
  
Ace let his first dagger fly. Scythe blocked it with the shaft, then rotated it a few more degrees to block fours more twirling spikes. Ace grinned as more daggers filled the spaces he had left. Now we get serious. Scythe was ready, and tore forward before Ace had anticipated, twirling his weapon faster than the eye could follow. Ace tried to make up for his lack of awareness with a flurry of knives, but they bounced off the spinning shield. Before he knew it, Scythe was up to him, and altered the direction of his blade to knock Ace's final dagger from his palm, then finish his turn with a striking from the butt end to the chest.  
Ace flew a good four feet out before plummeting to the ground on the other side of the wall. Scythe turned his sights on the rest of the battlefield.  
  
Slate screamed and swung the great sword, knocking both of Lathe's sabers to the grass and booting him down as well.  
As Hammer took final aim, the familiar sound came... fsfsfsfsfsfsfsf! Shink! The spinning scythe massacred his cannon. Scythe raced over the plain, soared high, and landed both feet onto Arsen's gut. One left. His scythe gone, the young assassin yanked out his small but forceful blaster, turned and fired.  
The beam punched Slate square in the back and sent him sprawling. The test was over.  
  
Their master had watched the battle from start to finish. His name was Hunter, the greatest known bounty hunter in the underground. He was approximately five-foot, possibly a bit over, and was completely metal-clad, wearing a large helmet complimenting the look of a Sphinx's, with red eyes. His arms were encased in a black under-armor and his hands in sharp gloves, making them skeletal.  
The Assassins gathered in their war room, its blue and black pillars giving it proper darkness.  
"I have someone for you to meet." Hunter motioned to the corridor. A large, bulk of a man, with gargantuan shoulder add-ons that seemed to have two separate sections resting as a sort of armor perhaps. The remainder of his wardrobe consisted of army sweats and a tank top. "As I understand it, one of your targets is packing a good deal of fire-power. Of course, we pack a good amount as well, but Tanker here," he motioned to bulky warrior, "has enough to cover your backs so your objective is not interrupted."  
"How's that 'sposed to happen?" Arsen piped up, waving his guns at Tanker, "He doesn't even have a gun."  
"Indeed, I don't." Tanker said subtly, and cocked his shoulders back once, starting a mechanism. The uppermost sections of his shoulder "armor" detached from their companions and scrolled over them to lay and stop at Tanker's knuckles. They latched back into the lower sections, forming long shafts down each arm, and extended small levers to rest under the palm, closest to the fingers; a trigger. Tanker's arms had become massive custom Force cannons. "I wonder what these are." The assassin's voice was very deep, but intelligent.  
Hammer stepped forward first, and anxiously shook Tanker's hand, welcoming him to the team. Scythe stepped up next, graciously. Then Arsen, then Ace, each exiting after their welcome. But Slate looked Tanker up and down with disdain, and walked out with a grunt, head high. Lathe looked from Tanker to Slate, then back to Tanker, and lightly shook hands and left.   
Tanker looked after them.  
  
On his daily patrol, Kane noticed he had a shadow. Or, in other words, he was being followed. The pursuer was not being secretive, so he probably wasn't hostile. Kane slowed his pace enough for his shadow to catch up. It was Darin, the lowly Direct officer he had humiliated not a month before.  
"Hey, uh, how ya doin'?" Darin was about medium height, probably around 5'5'', and had poofy black hair, and with his attempt to comb it, made him look strikingly like a young Elvis. Kane only looked on, but stopped to listen. "Well, uh, I was just, uh, trying to make sure everything's straight between us."  
"Say again?" Kane didn't even look at him.  
"Uh, well, I know that you're an Enforcer and I'm a Direct Officer, but what happened in that bar, well, it's just behind us right?"  
"What do you care?" Kane walked on.  
"You're not the social type are you?"  
"Not paid to be." He sped up his walking a bit.  
"That might hurt you in the future." Darin called.  
Kane stopped, turned, and asked coldly, "What the hell do you mean by that."  
"If you're social, you have friends. Those friends help you when you need someone the most. Even in battle."  
Kane turned back, no comeback in mind, and hastened his pace.  
  
Tren slapped the envelope onto the table, the top torn off to show he had already thoroughly read the contents. He brought his fingers together and leaned back in his chair, forever shadowed by the lack of light on his side of the room. On the other side stood Vor behind a seated individual. The individual had poignant red hair and blue eyes, somewhere around 5'5'' in height and normally built. He was looking rather anxious, but still remaining, much to his own effort, very composed.   
"So, Steven Galad is it?" he pronounced the "G" with a hard sound.  
"No, Galad. Just pronounce the G as if it were a J. "I think it's French." Steven answered with experience.  
"Well, Steven, you've passed everything we can throw at you other than a field exam." Tren focused more on him, "I do know that you're not that fond of battle."  
"Well, I think I can get over it if you actually set me somewhere for the test." Steven nodded.  
"Well," Tren leaned back again, "that's just it. We're a little under budget right now.   
See, none of the other Factions know that the Elite Squadron even exists. And-  
Something odd happened. Tren's sensory mind twitched ever so slightly. Negative forces churned somewhere. He stopped speaking and focused his thoughts. The powers were a little rusty from lack of use, but he had found at least a vicinity of whereabouts in a few seconds. Then he remembered the histories...   
"Gentlemen," Tren stood straight, pushing off his chair, "I believe I have found the event we need for a field test. Vor."  
"Sir." Vor straightened.  
"Take Steven here with you to 125 Hellen Street to investigate an assassination organization." He stared at him at the sudden order, wondering where it came from.   
Steven was already standing but turned to Tren, "Hellen Street, that's abandoned!"  
"I'm glad you know your geography, now move!" Tren barked, and the Elite and trainee bolted.   
"Damn." Tren whispered when they were gone, "There will be death tonight."  
  
The Assassins had gathered on the hilly outskirts, knowing Kane was near, just over the next hill. Their group, however, was not as tight as Hunter had felt. Arsen was facing south, passing the time by twirling his many pistols in and out of their holsters like a quick-draw shooter. Ace was placing his knives in different places and carving in the dirt, forming ugly and grotesque images of death with the points.  
"So we're just going after him now, right?" Ace asked, now finishing a large stick man with head cut off.  
"Yes, the Enforcer first, then the kid." Lathe reminded him, annoyed, then went back to sharpening one of his swords.  
"I wonder how much of a fight he'll put up." Arsen wondered, just finishing spinning his pistol four times in the air.  
"Do not become too arrogant, little boys." Hammer said with profound wisdom.   
"Like he said, we don't know exactly how tough this guy is." Tanker paced around them, "If this guy could take on and put up a good fight against Cinder, he should be pretty tough." Tanker and Hammer had become linked in the effect of them having similar weaponry and experience, making them both seem somewhat aged compared to the others.  
Tanker made his way over to Slate, who was silently watching the moon become a little more profound in the sky. "So," he began, "what's your assumption?"  
"I have nothing to say." Slate replied, still watching the sky, his sword in its sheathe facing down.  
"Ya' know, I should tell you my policy." He felt like he was talking to a brick wall, but he knew he could hear him. "I only aid my friends in battle, and out of this whole thing, with all your training, you still can't accept that the only reason I'm here is to save your butt."  
Slate lifted off from his sword with a sigh through his nose and turned slowly to face Tanker, "I don't need to say anything to you, because you're hired to do this. And you're hired to watch my back, so you will no matter my attitude."  
"Indeed." Tanker returned under his breath.  
Scythe had been kneeling, arms crossed and resting on the butt of his personal scythe. He was watching the sun set, apart from the angry and curious minds of his fellow, independent assassins. He was his own, all he had to be. But the sun had made it halfway into the hill. Time. "To your places."  
They were gone from the hill in less than a second.  
  
Kane sensed something on the horizon. The Great Hill marking the end of the outskirts and the beginning of the outer desert. Upon the hill stood a figure, a dark figure. As Kane watched, the figure brought up a long shaft. The Enforcer quickly realized it was a weapon, as the figure unsheathed it slowly. As fine steel replaced black, Kane's instincts took over, and he checked his surroundings.  
They had sprung out of nowhere; six all together that he could see. He noticed two with very large guns, flanking him. Another with two smaller blades behind him. A knife thrower on one roof to his diagonal right, and another gunslinger on the roof to his left. But his eyes reverted back to the lone swordsman at the hill. "Assassins", his mind murmured.  
  
Taking out his blaster, Vor fired once to melt away the lock. However, when he pushed on one side, it didn't budge, even with all his weight against it. He looked it up and down and discovered a massive lead mound welded into it on the other side. "Oh well, I guess we'll get out of here then." Steve said and began to step back.  
Vor only contorted his face slightly further with anger, holstered his gun, and, after a moment's pause, straightened his arms as claws shot out, two from each hand from modules on the backhands. Steve's eyes bulged with fear and wonder at the sight. The Russian latched his claws into the fence's tines, parallel to each other and diagonal, then turned them quickly counter clockwise. Then, with his arms still crossed, he rammed his shoulder into it, rolling through over the lead hill and landing to hunch down, arms straight on either side, ready for combat. They retracted and he stood.  
The night sky seemed to emit past the dark building, as if its presence stood alone in an abyss of time. "Aren't you coming?" Vor asked without turning.  
Steve shook his gaze from the monolith building and stuttered out the excuse, "I don't have anything to fight with."  
Vor reached behind him and pulled out yet another shaft from its slot in his back, and tossed it to Steve, who nearly dropped it. "What the hell is this?"  
"Quiet! It's a cutlass, use it. Now C'mon." Vor strode right up to the door. After a second's pause, his claws came out again.  
  
The door stood. Suddenly, it was crisscrossed and cut through, but still stood... Until a foot and leg fired through, the figure landing and going into a roll, simultaneously unlatching his shaft plasma cannon in his right hand, and his original blaster in his left. Upon his crouching landing, his eyes darted back and forth with his crosshairs, scanning the area. Nothing.  
He leapt/rolled to the center of the room, and scanned again, then sighed and stood. "Damn it." Vor murmured.  
Steve had just come in and said something to the effect of, "What happened?" Vor simply responded with a grunt and growl.  
"If you're looking for the assassins, they're in the Valley Junkyard!"  
Both Elite whirled toward the voice. A lone figure stood on the catwalk above them. She was wearing a long, red trench coat. Long, wavy goldenish white dreadlocks and streams of hair complimented her slender body and face. Her eyes were a cross between emerald green and silver, an odd but beautiful mix. But there were tears streaming from her eyes.  
"I'll go, you stay." Vor said shortly and sped out the door.  
"Fine by me." Steve breathed. His eyes went to the woman. He stepped forward hesitantly and asked with growing concern, "Why are you crying?"  
The woman put her weight on the handlebars and choked out, "I've just betrayed my loyalty."  
  
And outside, up and over the lead and oil columns, Vor ran, making every leg length count for distance.  
  
  



	6. The Prey

Chapter 6   
The Prey  
  
There was a pause as they all waited for the first move. Kane did his first, ran. Not away, but still ran fast enough to bring his pursuers in full sprint behind him. They went off in every direction possible, all fifteen of them acting to converge on him at once. But the Enforcer had them on his turf now: the streets.  
Dashing down one specific alley, Kane leapt onto the first ladder and was on the roof seconds after, yanking out his two guns and standing with each facing a different end of the roof.  
  
Vor was running without strain, but with no time. He switched on his headgear, searching for the wavelength specified for the Elite. He found a cracking "Hello?" and understood it to be Jim. "Hey, Jim, do you know where the site is? Did Tren give you the knew coordinates?"  
He waited for the response. "Good, how fast can you get there?"  
"Faster than you."  
"Great. Only engage when you have to, I'll be there in another few minutes." He switched off the mike and sped up, pushing his limits now.  
  
The street was narrow and dark, but lit up with fire and brimstone at each random explosion. Kane found himself jumping left, then right, then left again, finally rolling twice over the ground. He drew his smaller blaster and traded fire from where he lay with Arsen, then rolled his way back to his feet, his back to brick.   
Kane felt the shockwave before it connected with the wall and he flung himself forward as the brick turned molten then ignited. Through the smoke and ash, gray blades flew. The Enforcer pushed off and sprang from the ground, watching his place be littered with spikes and knives. Once again on his feet, Kane drew his larger blaster as well, brandishing one in each hand, his eyes returning to the days of training...  
They came like jet-infused gray bats from the smoke. Kane held the guns straight in front of him, paused, and opened fire. The guns backlashed in a solid, rapid rhythm, the beams knocking every oncoming knife or star off course. A few of them even stuck in the opposite walls. The endless knives continued, and Kane continued. Just like the simulator. A final volley sang forth, more concentrated than the last. His eyes narrowed.  
He knocked down every knife save one, for which he cocked his slightly to the side to let it make a hard twink by his head. The onslaught thwarted, he volleyed as many shots as he could into the mist with both barrels; all of them his pipes. He was being shadowed. Kane noticed the small gunner, Arsen, on the roof above him taking aim.  
"Damn it." Kane cursed and bolted down another dark path. Arsen was firing with the gun on its side, hoping for luck, but his shots could only fill the brick sliding right behind the Enforcer.  
"Hammer?" Arsen yelled in his mike. Kane heard him, guessed, and leapt high. He was right. The ground was filled a miniature mushroom cloud. He flew and flipped twice over it, but landed with a tough thud on the thick dirt and broken pavement. Arsen jumped down from his perch and made careful adjustments to his aim. "See ya, Intervention." Out of nowhere, a blue and green blast detonated behind the assassin, rocking his footing. He whirled to it, then back around. Kane was gone. Arsen cursed inwardly.  
Arsen put a finger to his ear and growled into his mike, "What the hell was that?"  
"I do not know." Was Hammer's reply.  
Tanker, who was watching the sky, clued them all in with one word, "Up."  
All assassins not in combat gazed to the blue blanket overhead. There was one obstruction of the beauty, a bright figure almost blending in with his dark blue/black armor and jetpack.  
Jim had his normal, run-of-the-mill plasma, missile-brandishing shotgun from the future armed and versatile. He took aim, whispering, "I believe it not a sin to defend." He let loose a shot. The dust near Arsen burst into fire, flinging the assassin, unharmed, a few feet. "To kill is a sin." The platform where Hammer crippled to pieces as a shockwave rocked its base. "So forgive me if I enter this valley of death." Slate bounded to the side from the blast, his sword sleeking over the pavement.   
Slate was the only one to retaliate thoroughly. He hung his sword behind him, relaxing his wrist. In one swift bolt, he flung the sword like a discus into the air.  
"Oh, dear." Jim whispered. His maneuver jets flared him down and to his right as the scimitar sang past. It turned back in an arch. Jim noticed at the last minute and hammered his directional buttons. The spinning blade of death zoomed down directly in front of him, only less than a foot from his bulky armor. It's only slice made to him was a few chunks of untrimmed hair. The sword landed diagonal in ground.  
Slate ran past, picking up his sword as he came. He stopped momentarily to glare at the opposition in the sky.  
  
"Hey!" Kane called to the assassin, then began firing on both cylinders. The assassin had the fastest reflexes next to Kane's, and spun, reflecting every shot off his massive sword. Fire ceasing, Slate began to barrel toward the Enforcer.  
Kane's guns were exhausted. He told his small pistol to "RECHARGE" and it clicked and whurred away he holstered it. By that time, Slate was close enough to swing. Kane ducked, feeling what seemed to be a gale force wind flow over him. Slate swung again, lower. The Enforcer jumped, once again glimpsing the behemoth gray. Kane landed and coiled back, escaping a third slash with a minor cut across his chest. He then broke off into a run, Slate in hot pursuit.  
There were two smaller ruins, a furnished bar connecting the two roofs; maybe for electrical purposes in the past. Whatever it was used for then, Kane used it now, springing up to it and grasping. Using the swing from the jump, he swung up onto the top and balanced on his feet.   
Helpless, unbalanced prey. Slate flung the scimitar again as he had before. Kane leaned one way as it sliced near one foot, then leaned the other way on its way down. The Enforcer flipped forward off the descending pole, still motoring his legs, to continue running across the remaining pole end onto the roof. Slate simply jumped, soaring far over the needed altitude and pursuing.  
Kane ran to the edge, leapt, and turned down. While upside down, his newly charged blaster discharged three times before he disappeared down the dark chasm. Slate blocked as he had before and followed, sword high.  
  
Kane was suddenly yanked into the shadows with such force even he was knocked from his feet. He felt a body behind him, but before he could react, he also noticed the curved blade straddling his neck.  
"Kane, right?" Scythe asked his name. Kane did not respond, standing completely still. "That's all right, your silence invokes a large 'yes'." Scythe loosened a bit, but held the scythe where it was. "Perhaps you're curious as to what's going on."  
Kane gave the slightest nod.  
"Very well. Bear with me, all right? Here goes: you and another boy intervened a little over a month ago in the Cinder operation. We were hired by one close to the operation to assassinate you, then the boy." Kane tensed at the mention of Cinder and Leon.   
"Then, what...are you...waiting for?" Kane struggled out.  
"With a flick of my wrist, your head will fly. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already." Scythe sighed. "Thing is, I believe that what you did was right. These others don't look at the past for reasons, but you right to stop that massacre. So, I have a Proposition for you." He loosened the closeness of the blade further so Kane could speak clearly.  
"I'm listening." Was all he said.  
"Very well, I ask you to disappear. To vanish from this society and I will tell them I disposed of you as planned."  
"And what about the boy?" Kane ventured.  
"I'm sorry, but he will have to die."   
"So you'll sacrifice the kid's life for my own?"  
"Don't treat it like an all out massacre, it's just one kid."  
"All the more reason for me to intervene again."   
"I'm not like them." He answered angrily, jerking his head to outside search. "I haven't had the will and life beaten out of me to make me into a drone of Hunter's war. I won't kill him, but they will." He motioned to the lit, broken streets.   
Hunter. Kane copied the name into his memory as Scythe continued. "I am higher, and better, because I chose not to give in. Even Slate was broken, even if he was more reluctant than the others." He dropped his Scythe, letting Kane free.  
"You may be the only one of them with a soul, but if they're going to kill more, I can't allow it." Kane explained. "You understand, of course."  
Scythe breathed in, then out. "I never thought an Enforcer would care."  
"I don't. You don't have to care to have honor."  
"Of course." And Scythe watched him dash into the light.  
Lathe dropped down behind Scythe, contemplating. "Why didn't you kill him?" he asked angrily.  
"He did not deserve it." Was the calm reply.  
"You're a coward, you know that right?" Lathe got in his face.  
"No," he turned his eyes to the other assassin, "Cowards fight only when they're paid to."  
Lathe's face stiffened up as he searched for a comeback. All he could muster was, "We're not finished with you." As he rushed past him to the battlefield.  
  
Kane had found Slate again, but they were not in combat. The Enforcer was by the pipe piece, marveling at its sharp ends. An idea surfaced. He picked it up like a javelin. Kill only if necessary, the order came back to him as he aimed the piece of long pipe. His aim was true.  
The shaft sang as a whistle with its hollow center toward the assassin, but Slate was fast, trained for dodging this sort of desperate attack. He used his crossed sword to alter the course of the passing shaft, as his body had sped out of the way. He did not realize that Tanker was in that course.  
The walking bazooka incinerated the shaft easily, firing twice, the second shot commencing right next to Slate. Tanker's eyes met Slate's momentarily. The blade assassin vanished from view. Kane was defenseless, his guns totally exhausted now. He was the perfect target. But Tanker just stood there. He doesn't think this is right either.  
Kane stared at his opponent. He didn't stare long, however, because he soon was lying flat and dazed due to a wooden rod striking down on his head. Lathe tossed the rod behind him and took out his sword, ready to perform the death ritual of a warrior.  
Vor' came into view over a building roof, taking out his new blaster. "Hey!" he yelled and began firing. Lathe didn't even have time to block before his body was riddled, pierced, and singed a thousand times by plasma streaks. His body twitched momentarily; then he fell alongside Tanker.  
The new Elite leapt to a neighboring building and cast his eyes down at another assassin; the one they called Hammer. He had jet-black hair, wavy, going well with his dark clothing, as they all wore dark clothing. His weapon of choice at the moment was a heavy plasma cannon. He turned his sights on Vor. Vor drew faster, but his Shaft fizzled. Charged out. He cursed and flipped it to its back slot while drawing out his original Blaster. It's aim came down.  
The gun flew from his hand to his left in pieces with a spark. He glared to his right to see yet another assassin, gun on him, charging up for another hit. Vor's claws extended. Two of them, I can handle that. One set of blades pointed at each assailant, he looked from the other to Hammer, then back. He leapt into a cartwheel over the side, dodging the second blast. Landing on a rock, his legs recoiled and carried him, flipping behind another as his previous rock exploded. The process continued three cycles more, when Vor leapt high enough to dig his claws into the top of an erected car pillar and spinning over the top. Upon landing, the charge hit, blowing up the dust cloud. Silence.  
Hammer grinned with grim approval. The smoke billowed from the new crevice.  
"Hhhheerrrrrrrraaaaaaa!" Vor flew through the smoke, the same way Trunks had done, "like a demon from hell", arms and claws outstretched in front. The laser barrel glowed for another blast, then shook, and died. Vor's claws were imbedded in the shaft; the Russian grinned at his surprised victim. He swung the rifle up, whapping the butt of the gun into Hammer's chin. Extracting his claws, he kicked the assassin down.   
Dashing the remaining wires and pieces from his claws, he heard the hum of another gun. He ducked while taking back out the Shaft, the blast singing over him, turned, and loosed three independent shots. Two connected between the barrels of Arsen's guns, but he arched back enough for the third to just skim his shoulder.  
He heard the soft shing of drawing blades, and he brought out his. Whirling and speeding forward, he blocked hundreds of singing daggers and stars by waving his claws in front in a rhythm, matching the timing of Ace's tactics. He was up to him in seconds, swiping twice with claws to knock the knives remaining in Ace's shaking fingers, bringing the claws up, arms crossed, to straddle the assassin's neck. He inched them a bit closer.  
The barrel charged from behind. Vor turned his head and eyes to Arsen, still holding Ace. After studying his opposite opponent, his eyes and head ever so slowly found their victim. The Elite sprang up and kicked forward, knocking Ace down and flipping back through the air. Arsen followed him with shots, but Vor landed first, sliced the gun down, kicked again.  
Arsen rolled yanked out his fourth blaster faster than Vor could block. A barrel discharged, another barrel exploded. Arsen looked from his gun's remnants to the horizon. A bulky armored figure with one hell of a gun waved back. Vor grinned at the odds. The assassin drew his fifth and sixth guns and bolted away from the two.  
Jim's barrel radiated faster, loosing thousands of blasts. Arsen returned fire only twice, then took cover behind a large set of debris and used one gun to continue fire and the other to drive away Vor's presence. Neither worked. Arsen was torn and broken, unable to comprehend the turn of events. Lathe lay dead, Hammer looked on defenseless, but still experienced. Ace, Slate, and Scythe had disappeared from sight. Only he remained a fighting force in their mission.   
I must succeed. He pulled out what looked like a small discus, except red and black, with a tiny blinking module in its center. He appeared over the top crate and flung the discus. The moment it connected with solid ground, one of its curved wings went inward, activating the explosion. Jim flung himself to the side and yelled to Vor, "Watch it, he's still packin' serious heat!"  
"No crap!" Vor called back.  
  
"Need some help?" came Tanker's crackled voice to Arsen. Arsen nearly had a heart attack. Two more explosions rocked the two Elite to the ground.  
Arsen glimpsed over the box, they were unscathed. "Why aren't you killing them?"  
"I'm only covering for your escape."  
"If that's all you're doing, then how about a little help over here!" It was Slate. Jim had turned his fire on him, and Vor was checking the trajectory of the blasts. He saw the bulky assailant turning to the horizon. He understood now what was happening. Tanker looked on.  
"Tanker! Where are you, you've got a great shot, I need help over here!" and still, Tanker looked at him.  
"Why aren't you helping him?"  
Tanker whirled and charged one bazooka to full. Vor was two feet ahead of the gun. He could be vaporized any time. He withdrew his claws to show he wouldn't attack, but Tanker didn't change position, although his expression softened. "He doesn't deserve help."  
"He's your teammate."  
"He's no one's teammate. His arrogance reinforces that."   
"So what are you going to do."  
Tanker didn't respond verbally, but he powered down completely. He unlatched each cannon separately, twisting them off each arm and letting each clank to the ground. I give up. He nodded toward the other defenseless assassin, Hammer. He had his arms up, showing his acceptance. With one look to Tanker, Vor went to Hammer.  
Tanker drew a very small gun, but he didn't fire on Vor...  
  
Hammer put down his hands, and said knowingly, as if death were certain, "May God have mercy on my soul."  
Vor kept the gun level but eased off the trigger, "Don't worry, we were taught mercy when we were born. You haven't killed anyone here, you don't deserve to die."  
"I haven't killed anyone here." Hammer reached inside his coat and pulled out a very small gun, and held it up, pointing to sky. Vor looked from him to the gun, then back, his eyes not understanding the gesture. Hammer turned his wrist, barrel facing his head.  
"No!!" Vor dropped the gun and reached out.   
Tpheeww! Hammer's body fell, Vor stared in shock, his eyes not able to blink. All over his body was shaking.  
Arsen appeared on one old crate, holding both guns and spreading his arms, screaming to the heavens, "We will never be taken by life! Such is the code of the assassins!" and he commenced fire to Vor. Jim noticed Vor's shock and enabled his jetpack.  
"Look out!" he tackled Vor out of the way and across the landscape as energy bolts filled his space. Arsen ceased and leapt back behind the crate. He unlatched the empty cartridges and took out two others.   
"Last charge." He looked at the final two capsules before him, nearly breaking again.  
  
"We're dealing with someone that doesn't fear his own death right now, that means he'll be just like a kamikaze. We're not kamikaze, how do we fight one?" Vor choked out.  
"We match his intensity with Velocity. With the same fury, but not dredged madness. He thinks we're here to kill him, he thinks he's dead either way. That's why he's taking risks, that's why he's more dangerous than all the others." Jim took Vor by the shoulders and shook him, "We see this to the end and we remain here only to apprehend him."  
"But," he took staggered breaths, "I, I'm so angry."  
"I know, I know." He shook him again, "Keep your fury, but do not let in your rage. We don't kill, do you understand?"  
"I-I-  
"Vor! Do you understand?" Jim gripped him harder.  
The Elite closed his eyes, took a breath and forced a very controlled, "Yes."  
Jim looked him over momentarily, then looked behind him, searching for Arsen. "I'll head out first." His jet flared and he flew with his back to the ground, speeding along and darting his eyes around for Arsen. He realized his vulnerability and kicked into the dirt, turning his ascension upward. Jim could now look over nearly the full area of the site.   
A shot seared past his head and he turned his sights to the trajectory. Nothing, there was no sign of him. Jim cursed inwardly.  
Vor sensed it was his time to move. Jim could not hold out when he couldn't see his enemy. Drawing out his claws, Vor ducked down and ran across one of the trenches formed from Tanker, keeping his own visibility small, searching for the gunner. He spotted him, looting Hammer's body and finding two guns similar to his last two. No honor. "There! There, by the older one!" he called to Jim.  
Arsen realized his mistake and took off. Jim had him now and would not lose track or sight. He took careful aim. Dirt exploded on either side of Arsen. Vor took out his long gun and aimed. Once again, the fire reigned on either side of the runner. "Your aims suck!" he laughed at them.  
You want a shot, I'll give it to you. Vor took special aim, turning the gun sideways and aiming from the barrel, not the scope. The rock approximately a millimeter from Arsen's heel combusted, sending him sprawling. "Rrrraaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Arsen bellowed in aggravation and opened fire. Vor spun back into his trench, multiple beams spreading over his head. With Vor out of sight, both barrels lapsed toward Jim.  
The jetpack didn't stand a chance, and split in half after four connections. All yours Vor. He thought as he descended. Arsen took his chance, dashed, and scaled to the last available roof. Vor sped up again and drew his claws. His arm blades dug into the red stone, giving him the leverage needed to scale just as fast.  
Arsen was facing the rising sun, and drawing the same small, one-shot gun. Vor was faster than he thought he could be. There was a struggle. A barrel discharged.  
  
Vor fell to his knees, clutching a bleeding shoulder. Arsen had wide eyes at him. "You-you're-not....you didn't...couldn't...it was supposed to be....supposed to be. No." Arsen continued to stammer, but they weren't words. And for the first time, he cried, also on his knees. Meanwhile, Vor blacked out just as Wing Cruisers arrived on the scene.  
  



	7. Shadows

Chapter 7  
Shadows  
  
  
"What I want you to know, gentlemen, especially you, Tom, is that these men are not rare around this district." The Wing captain explained. "You'd be surprised how many assassination plots in the Gang Wars were connected with these guys."  
"Sir, may I say that the Wars were 20-30 years ago, and most of these guys are no more than 20 years old." A brave private ventured.  
"Correct, private." The captain praised him. "But you're overlooking a known trait for assassins: they train their family." He clicked on the holographic projection. The image changed multiple times as it scanned the database. It finally halted on a Starkov Folosovich, which, from the computer image, looked like he was from one of the World Wars. "This trained assassin, near to his own assassination, trained his son, this man." The image altered to a man in a black coat, brandishing two sub-machine guns and a black bandana. Extremely retro. His name was projected as, "Riley Folosovich. Code alias: Driller." The captain read it from memory as the computer's electronic voice echoed him.  
"I don't see where this is going, I-   
"I'm not finished yet, private!" the captain snapped him back to attention. The image flickered into an older man, near 40 by his looks. Shorter than the previous two, but still very similar in looks. "Name: David Folosovich. Code alias: Hammer." A few heads nodded. "He's one of the bodies we picked up. What I'm getting to, gentlemen," He flicked off the image, "is that this organization trains their young for any future developments."  
"Another thing." The captain pointed out, "We are investigators, detectives. Notice that the official target of the assassins was the same Enforcer who was responsible for stopping the Cinder operation."  
There were a number of edgy Lieutenants listening. Tom was among them. Kane.  
"I suspect that whoever's hiring these guys is linked to that same operation. I expect a result of some kind from each one of you in 6 hours. Dismissed." All the privates bustled out. Tom lingered a little longer.  
  
  
"So Wing has custody of Arsen?" Vor was pacing the office, Jim and Tren sitting nearby.  
"Correct." Tren nodded.  
"But we did everything!" Vor argued.  
"Number 1: you were unconscious," he pointed to Jim, "and you were wounded." Vor rolled his eyes and started to say something, but Tren wasn't finished. "And number 2: that Enforcer did quite a number on all of them. Seemed like he was their target the whole time. That was more than a scuffle."  
"This isn't about Wing, is it?" Jim guessed.  
"What I called you in here for was to tell you that you stopped an immense assassination plot of our Enforcer friend."  
"Yeah, he seemed quite grateful." Vor commented under his breath.  
"Anyway, what you need to understand is that I don't believe, that although that was a very critical, and dangerous battle, that it's over." He sighed and repositioned himself in the chair, "You see, I can sense a presence that may be hostile to us. They break a balance. Thing is, I thought those assassins were that presence."  
"They weren't." Jim was right again.  
"No, anything but. However, they were linked to it somehow."  
"Some of them weren't found. At least three of them ran from us and their team, either out of fear or justice." Vor pointed out.  
"That's only a small worry of mine. We need to be on the lookout for something greater, harder to find. A hunter of men, perhaps."  
"A bounty hunter? Training assassins? I thought they were banished." Jim said.  
"They were." Vor, however, wasn't focusing on the conversation anymore.   
"Vor, what is it?" Tren asked, tensing with his sensory.  
Vor's eyes scanned the windows. One of them was darker than the rest. "We have a shadow."  
Jim started to stand, but Steven shoved him back down, explaining, "Not in your condition."  
"Vor, can you handle it?" Tren asked, already knowing the answer.  
"Yes." He dashed out, all the windows the same light.  
  
The roof was black, just as the sky, giving off a blue tint from the moon. A lone figure, hooded, had just fallen upon it, sulking around on edge.  
  
Vor dashed up the winding, dark hall, stopping under a small hatch. With the push of a switch upon his armor, the hatch slid open and extended a ladder. The Elite scaled the bars quick as a raven and disappeared into the darkness.  
  
The center of the rooftop emitted a small speck of light, which proceeded around in a circle. When the circle had formed, the pad descended into the dark innards of the Exodus building only to rise again with Vor on top of it. When the circle/elevator had reached its origin, it faded away with stealth.  
The Elite drew his claws. A presence other than his own was still there. What his eyes not see his ears could just barely pick up the soft scraping of boot against brick.   
Vor's slice came down on the edge, nearly missing gripping fingers, the cloaked figure letting go just in time, plummeting straight down. He motored his legs, however, miraculously running up the wall, then leaping over Vor, turning in the air, and landing to face him. The hood of the cloak had fallen. It was one of the assassins, the boy with the scythe.  
"I didn't know anyone could do that." Vor observed, drawing his other claw.  
"Not many can, unless they've trained." The wind blew hard, and he let his cloak catch the air. Unlatching it, he let it fly away with dragon's wings. It was a boy, no more than 23 years of age, roughly.  
Vor took the action as invitation and sped forward at the assassin. The boy only reached behind him, grasping the scythe that lay on his back in a curved sheath. A spinning, gray flash of death from interchanging fingers occurred the moment the boy brought his arm back up, the scythe whirling vertically. Vor pulled his upper body away first, then stepped back to his previous position.  
"But I don't want to fight you. Especially one who defeated the others." The boy explained.   
Others? Vor remembered the fight, but he did not remember the boy. He understood anyway. "Assassin!" He charged forth, slicing madly.  
The boy whirled the scythe up, down, side-to-side, blocking and averting the dual blades, at each strike cascading sparks onto the blacktop. Their dance was short. The crescendo of strikes entered a finale: Vor leapt/dashed in from the side, claw-swiping diagonal down. The two blades landed on the top of the curve of the scythe, and continued to ride down till the tiniest point, raining down a constant shower of yellow pixels. The scythe-carrier whirled and swiped down Vor's arms, then butted him back with the shaft. Vor proceeded to retaliate, looming over the boy, who ducked down and rolled under the leap.  
Both combatants rolled aways in their own directions, then spun to their feet to face each other again. The moon was full, with only one obstructive cloud.   
"I've heard of you," Vor breathed, "You're Scythe. I've heard from Arsen."  
"He's alive?" Scythe loosened.  
"You're surprised?" Vor asked.  
"We're taught to eliminate ourselves even with the slightest chance of total capture."  
"He tried, give him that, but I turned the gun on myself."  
"Oh, how honorable of you." Scythe mocked.  
Vor was unmoved, "Since you don't wish to fight, I trust, then, you would go quietly into custody?"  
"And however appealing that would sound, no." Scythe returned with tranquility.  
"Then, I apologize, but I will take you by force." Vor wasted no more time. He ran, jumped, and let his claws take flight forward. If Scythe's shaft hadn't stopped his knuckles, he would have been impaled. Scythe rolled onto his back and punted the Elite over his head.  
Vor then realized the importance of the scythe. I must disarm him, that thing is a part of him.   
The Elite decided to play "Chicken" and rush the assassin. Scythe stood his ground, an obvious strategy plotting. He was going to begin his action by spinning the scythe. Vor guessed right. One claw came down, the other swung up, both locking onto the scythe shaft. Scythe was helpless. His action could not be done. And Vor's wasn't finished.   
Vor administered equal force to both arms. Sooner or later the assassin had to give in. Or attack. He did both, letting go of his scythe. Just as it flew into the wind to land a few feet away, Scythe kicked out, knocking the Elite a few inches back and propelling himself a few feet more.  
"No!!" Scythe yelled. Vor dashed, leapt, and soared at him, almost horizontal in the air, both claws out but one closer than the other. Without his scythe and too slow for his blaster, Scythe did what his training had never taught him. Held out his hand, fingers outstretched and palm forward.   
Vor's flight slowed, then halted in the air. Sweat had suddenly drenched Scythe's face, but he had already succeeded in something he never knew possible. An awkward moment settled over the Elite soldier frozen in the air and conscious assassin holding him there. But the moment was short.  
Scythe whirled away, and Vor continued flight, the assassin escaping with only a slash through the cloth across his left arm. He hastily retrieved his scythe and whirled to block away several mad slashes before jumping back to a safer distance.  
"What the hell did you do?!" Vor screamed to him.  
"Just another advantage I had over the others." He replied breathlessly.  
Vor roared and jabbed with his left, then right. Scythe blocked both, flipped once, twice, three times backward, touching at every execution, then sidestepped back until he straightened on the outer edge of the roof, one foot on its toe. He's daring me. He wins. The Elite barreled up, with both arms spread to block escape to either side. Two steps away, Scythe hadn't budged. He's mine. But the assassin vanished in a flash upward and Vor's arms crossed over each other. His eyes went wide as he went over the edge.  
There was a glimpse of the neon yellow and orange spectacle ranging below before a primal instinct resurfaced. Out of his control, his left arm shot out and the claws dug into the brick. His legs went to overdrive, moving faster than he thought possible, but, then again, he wasn't really thinking. They were constantly pounding against and gripping across the red. He moved, arching his view back to the moon. His claws continued to slice through brick, sustaining the action and completing a grizzly dual arch.  
One leg hit nothing; the other pushed off the last remaining piece of footing. Vor launched over the assassin, high into the night sky. He executed 16 horizontal revolutions before landing and immediately taking to his knee, using his unused hand for balance.   
First thing he noticed as his human instinct returned was the shocked look on Scythe's face. "Just another advantage I had over the others." Vor copied.  
This time Scythe roared and rushed forth. Vor blocked every blow. Right now he was overcome with a new understanding of his abilities, boosting his concentration and sensory. For some reason, he thought of the training center, with the probes...  
Realizing his loss of edge, Scythe let his weapon be knocked away, but he was not harmless.   
Vor felt the charge sear into him, dangerously close to his heart. The rest of his body numbed, amplifying this new pain. He was speechless as he fell on his back, breathing in short gasps.  
Scythe dropped his own gun. It was simply a last resort. It was his assault gun, it had more than one shot. He could have finished him. But the boy ran, disappearing into the night.  
  
  
Leon sat in his legendary recliner, contemplating life and Jeremy's constant absences. He had taped his notebook back together using scored of duct tape. He noticed it, alone upon his table. Walking over, he noticed the package mailed to him by Direct Postage. He still hadn't opened it.  
"Aw, what the hell." He murmured and tore away the packaging. It was an engraved case. The carved illustrations reminded him of a vineyard. But, as he looked closer, the vines grew into another shape. A griffin.   
Leon opened the case.  
The contents were covered by a crimson and gold banner; the colors of the Surveyor. There was note on top of that. It read: "Thanks again for your help with the Demonstration. I told you we might have some of these in stock for you."  
Aidam. "Hmm, a sword? That might just come in handy." He talked to himself. "What the." He said it fast, locking his eyes to the door. He had heard a noise. Only a simple tap against wood. The door was leaking a sliver of light into the hall.   
Cautiously, Leon walked over and, annoyed and confused, shut it and locked it.  
The boy worked his way back into the living room, heading straight for his notebook. Leaning back into his recliner, he opened up to a blank page. His pen scratched over the paper.  
"Writing your life story?" Leon bolted upright, eyes wide and mind racing. The voice was a whisper, but male and half-raspy. Leon saw movement in the shadows and stood before his table. A dark man in a long, black tunic and trench coat, with a half-cloak layering over that, rose from the darkness. He held at his side a sword taller than himself and continuing on. A scimitar. "It might sell very well soon."  
"Who the hell are you?" Leon was testing the durability of his table.  
"Your beholder." The dark man said.  
Leon wasted no time, flinging the table at the intruder. In a blurred execution, the table was in shreds. The youth then grabbed the case he had just received. The dark man's scimitar was coming down.  
The case blocked well, even though the sword went halfway into it. "There's something strong in there." The dark man grinned. "Oooof!" just as the case connected with his jaw, then his gut, then up to his chin.  
Leon hastily set the slaughtered case down and opened it, swiveling out the Templar blade and holding it firm before him.  
Slate was already there, slashing for the head. Leon was already fast, ducking low and slashing into the knee. The assassin stumbled, his sword making a longer streak through the wall and Leon bolted into the hall.  
Leon's heart was doing overhaul, but Slate's was beginning to pulse. That slash to his knee was an unexpected hindrance, but it did not stop the adrenaline now pulsing for the challenge.  
  
  
It was nearing 6:30 and the sun was only starting to set. Countless officers were questioning the durability of the clocks, while others questioned their own consumption of alcohol or coffee.   
Tom, unlike his colleagues, sat alone in his quarters, leaning over the documented questioning of Arsen. "Now," he talked to himself, "He says he does not know who his accomplices are even with a truth serum." He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling but not really looking at it, chewing on his pencil. His blond dredges tickled his forehead. "Damn it. These guys were trained to kill themselves if captured. But they were still prepared with immunities to even our truth serums." He put his elbow on the desk and rested his head in one hand. "Where is this all leading." He whispered.  
[MORE LIKE WHERE ARE YOU LEADING YOURSELF.]  
"Holy!" Tom flew backward from his chair to the floor, then was back up, hand on his gun. "Who's there? Who's the joker?" he stammered.  
[LISTEN MORTAL]  
"Jeez!" but Tom shut up after that, and calmed himself, suddenly accepting this voice coming from within him; it definitely wasn't his.  
[GO TO THE HALLWAY] Tom did, slowly getting up and hesitating, then throwing his caution in training to the wind. [YOU MUST HURRY...I HAVE NOT MUCH TIME] Tom's eyes narrowed at the mention. [DAYLIGHT IS A DIFFICULT PRICE TO PAY FOR TRUE SIGHT] What?   
[GO OUTSIDE, NOW!] Once again, Tom did as he was told, now alert for more of this voice. [NOW, GO RIGHT. NOW LEFT. KEEP GOING] Tom did not stop to think how this voice was following his every move. [STOP NOW!] The officer nearly fell over as he skidded to a stop. [THE...DooR...GO....to the dooor] Tom looked around for what the voice was telling him. When his eyes brushed over the tan wood, the voice screamed, [THERE!!]. Tom locked his eyes on the door and cautioned over to its lowest step. He listened for further direction.  
No more direction came. Tom waited for several moments, then gave up. He was here for a good reason, of this he was sure. Slowly, he ascended the stairs and leaned his ear close to the door.  
Tom heard the sounds of clashing metal and instinctively armed his gun. He leaned his ear once more to the door, then flew back and kicked the handle in. The door gave way for him as he rushed in, heading into the first room he saw; the living room.   
It looked like a war zone. The television was in shreds. The walls were lined with clean gouges through to the outside. What happened.  
He heard noises behind him and whirled around to the hallway. Something was pounding over the floor panels and rocking against the walls. It was also coming very, very fast.  
Two figures emerged in the wide opening into the living room; one, a young man, was driving the other, a dark man, toward the door. Both their swords were locked into each other, proceeding to carve into the adjacent walls. But just as fast as they had appeared, the young man had succeeded in his action.  
  
Whatever was left of the door shuddered and was launched into the brisk wind. Slate flew from the door to hit and skid over the sand-covered road, his scimitar emitting sparks each time it clanged over the shredded rocks. "Strong kid." He observed.   
Leon hung at the door. Tom appeared behind him, "Look out!" and shoved him and himself from the step. Slate was level in the air and swiped another great slash, splitting the doorframe halfway down.  
That was it, the house had had it. The closest section fell a few feet, then dropped backwards, caving in on the farther half.  
There was a pause for the event. Then Tom turned his gun down to "2" and fired to the assassin. Slate blocked two shots, then leapt over a third, which exploded into the killed house. Slate was in the air, sword coming down with a yell. Tom and Leon rolled away in different directions and the sword struck through pavement, sending dust in either direction.  
The dust settled. Slate had to rock his scimitar back and forth seven times to uproot it from the earth. He then slashed around him, warding off his doubled enemies. He vaulted to Tom first, striking hard and fast with a punt. The officer flew back with a crunch. Slate brought the scimitar before him and got into position to swing down.  
Something snapped. It was small, but something flared. Leon remembered Cinder, with his desperate slash. He remembered the time again against Cinder, with the reflected blast. And then, his rage and adrenaline rose and his grip tightened upon the hilt.  
Slate felt a gust of wind from behind, and, turning, noticed Leon sprinting toward him with fire in his eyes, "Oh dear..." he muttered.  
Leon sprang into a volley of slashes, perries, thrusts, and swipes. Silence filled the air, save for the sound of two pairs of shuffling feet and constant clinking of trading swords.  
Whshintk! Whshinct! Soonk! Soonk! Soonchk, shoonchk, shoonchk, shking, shkoong, shhang, shoonk, sing, shangk, toonk, toonk, toonk, shhhhhhhink! Leon continued his relentless blows, driving Slate further and further down the road. The assault continued untouched. Ching, ching, kching, kinshk, wwwwhhhhhhhhwinksh! Their swords locked and a constant clicking of the blades sounded in some sort of syncopated time.   
The fighters pushed off each other and Leon drove even more intently in. There were more constant flashes of steel. Somewhere between the rocking clangs and shifting feet over sand, a black tunic was slashed. Slate's widened further, his intensity skyrocketing to block. Leon's skill was multiplying, as if every slash were making him stronger. Another split-time moment: a slash rode across from chest to shoulder, turning red, but no real blood flow.  
The slashes sped up dramatically, each swipe followed by a timed, "Ha!" from Leon. Slate lost his composure and put in out of synch, aggravated slashes. Leon noticed the split-second chance. His Templar carved its way down from the left shoulder down the arm, drawing blood this time. Slate bellowed and turned/stumbled back, revealing the arched back of his body.  
Leon was not finished and leapt high, preparing to slice him in two. The assassin sensed it, and with seemingly his last ounce of strength lurched forward. The sword tip ran through black tunic, and blood sputtered from between the seams, but it was only a gash, nothing worse. Slate skidded to his knees, then chest, then face, and his sword arm, the scimitar flowing from his grasp a few feet. Leon tore to where he lay, sword held above him, pointing down.  
"No!!!" Tom was behind him at once, cuffing him around the middle and pulling him back. They both fell onto the hard pavement, Leon's sword, too, being wrenched from his grasp and rolling a few feet. "He's beaten, kid, he's gone." Tom panted when he looked to Leon.  
"No....he's not. Look!" Leon pointed. Sure enough, Slate had worked back up, sword in hand, behind them, about to slash.   
"I got him." Tom whispered without turning to see, whipped out his gun, whirled and fired high. The scimitar shot out and up from between the pair of gripping hands. It soared over the clouds and landed as it always did, point in the ground.  
Slate grinned stupidly, gesturing, What can you do? What, indeed. Tom had an idea. His arm came up fast and hard, knuckles slamming into chin. Slate stumbled aways, then routed himself and started up his feet in a rhythmic fighting stance.  
Tom swiveled to Leon, murmuring hastily, "You go get my buddies at the Wing HQ, take my helmet for proof." And, as he turned back he added, "I'll finish this." Behind him, Leon took off down the street.  
Tom rocketed forward without working out the situation. Obviously, his opponent had had martial training in some effective field, where Tom had only a lacking experience with tidbits of martial tactics and street fighting, perhaps even a little drunken boxing. That remembrance of the streets took over here.   
Slate eluded his jabs and barely thought out hooks, then delivered his own series of chops, palm jabs and side/palm jabs. At last, he knocked back the officer. But Tom wasn't the type to give up. Now knowing what to expect, he hiked back up and kneed the stomach, causing Slate to double over, then kicked up, now hurling him back.  
The fight became a dance of versatile jabs and arm blocks. Tom had found his footing, and any time Slate thought he could hit, Tom's forearm was there to take the blow, his other arm delivering its own. The assassin could not comprehend this simple, untrained detective matching him in combat. I am only wounded, not at my best, that is why.   
Now see my best!  
Slate blocked a jab, then swung his arm around and caught the opposing forearm, then copied the technique with the other hand. Using the arms for leverage, he leapt up until his knees were at level with Tom's chest. He swung his legs up and pushed off, letting go of the arms. Both combatants flew from each other, much like a rubber band snapping after exerting too much force.   
Tom and Slate flew for a good four or five feet in the air before rolling onto the pavement. Tom was up first and realized his chance. He jumped forward while setting his legs to overdrive, sprinting with driven force. The speed was something beyond adrenaline, and he leapt at appropriate distance, letting a new battle instinct flare in his mind.   
Slate found his opponent no longer dashing at him, but near to fifteen feet in the air. Oh, dear. Tom landed and slide tackled even before his knee found the ground, Slate back flipping out of its way, then turned on his knee, simultaneously standing, and kicked out. Slate got the blow in the chest, knocking him flat. He got back up, only to witness Tom's angry, but focused face as he brought back his flexed arm, then recoiled the muscles. The fist rode into his sight.  
Fffwwootich!  
Time slowed to the moment molded by the hit. Tom was frozen in a prepped battle stance, arm outstretched, fist clenched. Slate, arms limp at his sides, and feet nowhere near the ground, was arching unconsciously back from the force. For an instant, he had the sensation of drifting back to earth. It didn't last long.  
He landed with a hard whunk on his back, moaning inwardly. Tom went back and retrieved his gun, leveling it on the assassin. "Ok, now I need back-up." He murmured to himself, grinning.  
  
  



	8. Hunters

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 8  
Hunters  
  
  
The Direct underground was a work to be seen. Intertwining halls delving deeper and deeper into the earth, with countless labs and intelligence. There even rested elaborate cells for Bounty Hunters or what have you to keep under heavy guard. The security was tight, not that it truly needed it, so it has always seemed.  
But the never-present, always listening, intelligent guard would have noticed the careless banging in the long air ducts. One such guard had been shocked to dismiss himself by way of a stunning charge from an impulse blaster.   
Laser guard and four human ones, all of them packing sub-laser machine guns, sectioned off the thief's prize. The prize consisted a large case, rectangular, with the Direct emblem of a gun and sword crossing each other. The guards stood on four points around the case, each of them facing another entrance. This central little room had one upper vent held closed only by a single programmed chip.   
The thief, using his wide intelligence of access codes into the Direct mainframe, easily disarmed the little gadget, then set up his pully.  
He descended fast stopped just over the case, then kicked out both ways; two guards fell. He turned ninety degrees and repeated the action. All guards were on the floor unconscious with bruises to the head. The thief flipped forward, nabbed the case, then flipped back to ascend into the safety of the vent.   
The thief murmured to himself, "Too easy." Then a pulsing light caught his attention. From the end of the duct, a slithering, golden, burning light was growing across the innards of the shaft. With frustration, the thief noticed the countless wires littering around him, about to be ignited. He also noticed, with much a thank you, a single grate a few feet from him.  
The grate clanked ungracefully to the floor and the grateful thief dropped after it, cradling his prized case. He dashed the first direction he saw, right. Wrong direction. He found himself staring into a rather large barrel of a force blaster. In an instinctive motion, he dropped onto his back and kicked up, knocking the gun away. Using the momentum from the kick, he spun back to his feet and knocked the guard onto her back, then bolted in the other direction. "Maybe not."  
The hallways were endless, the only map the thief knew was above him, filled with now crimson fire and death. Annoyed at his moistening mask, the thief tore it off and threw it back where the guards were coming, as if the rag would somehow slow them down.  
There was absolute panic on Torik's face as he ran through the endless hallways. He could hear the boots of soldiers coming after him, like the powerful song of death. It kept echoing in his mind. He ran through the next door he saw and clubbed the one officer there with the butt of the rifle. More sweat ran down his face as the hallway was completely sectioned off by laser fire. No turning back now, Torik thought and swallowed hard.  
Torik searched the room with his eyes and finally noticed the window. The guards smashed through the door. He vaulted over the table and threw the case. It shot through the window in an explosion of glass. The guards opened fire. Torik didn't even have time to cry out as his lungs were incinerated from the back. He fell and died before hitting the carpet.   
"Hold your fire!" Darin dashed into the room and knelt at Torik, checking his pulse; nothing.  
  
Jeremy bolted from the bed covered in sweat and shivering. Leon heard the thump, rushed in, and knelt at his brother's side. "Was the forest again?" he asked when he thought Jeremy had regained at least a fare amount of his composure.  
"Yes." It was a shaken voice, worse than the other nights, "But there was something else. I saw a life, a scared life. I saw...death."  
"What are you saying?"  
"It's never been this intense before, I have to find out what this is, it's gotta' be a message." He got up from the floor and started pacing, "There has to be a reason. Whether it's God, or paranoia, I don't give a damn, but I have to figure this out." He left. Then returned hastily and started showering and going about that business. Leon left to his quarters within the Wing residence area.  
When he exited he nearly knocked over Tom, the friendly officer who had saved his life, then offered to house them after his house was torn in half by an unknown assassin. "The dream again?"  
"Yeah, it's been three nights in a row now." Leon averted his course, glad to be talking to someone he actually knew in the building.  
"Hey, it's probably just from the stress of the recent events." Tom guessed out loud.  
But Leon stopped short and stared at him, "Jeremy wasn't even there. I should be going crazy right now because I went Bruce Lee with a sword and am still not shaken up. I should what, have six personalities?" Leon started walking again, "No, this is definitely something else. A message of some kind."  
Tom thought back to that fateful day that he was only sitting at his desk when he thought he had heard a message, an impulse to go to the Orson house and do...something. Maybe it was God. Oh well, no use worrying about it now, it's in the past.  
  
But Leon returned to his side in a few minutes, exasperated, "Have you seen Jeremy?"  
"No." Tom replied slowly.  
"He was just in the quarters, I was only gone for a few seconds."  
"The kid's seventeen," Tom tried to calm him down, "I think he'll be fine on his own."  
"You don't get it. He hasn't been able to stand because of these dreams. I don't know what they're making him think." His voice grew quiet.  
  
Jeremy sprinted over the sidewalk, with no recollection of where exactly he was headed. The visions of a younger generation falling under raining laser fire flooded his mind again. He went to his knees, knocking down a trashcan as he went. Then, the flood came...  
Jeremy was in the middle of a blaze of volleyed shots. All around rained down fire and brimstone manifested by man himself. He stumbled over a body. It was the boy who had been shot in the back. His skin was not yet blue; a fresh kill. The eyes staring blank upward, the mouth gaping for a sound. A single sound.  
Someone was laughing. Jeremy flashed his head up to the sound. A metallic-clad figure was there, looking down on the boy. The torso and helmet of the figure were cases of some unknown armor type, while the limbs were enveloped in black layers of thick, intertwining enhancements. Then, there was the head. It seemed like the helmet of a sphinx with a human face, but with no mouth or nose. And the eyes, they were red. He was sucked into those eyes...  
Jeremy was running, bolting for an escape of the read. The forest was before him.   
His confused steps did not blaze a trail through the brush. The direction was simply, somehow, whatever and wherever he had to go to escape these horrible scenes bombarding his consciousness.  
All at once, it stopped. He ducked around a solemn tree and stopped short, arching his head up to see once more, then fell back. His back smacked against the trunk. Jeremy's eyes were half-open now. A few more scattered trees lay before him, then a long cement slate with various debris forming a small, jagged perimeter around it. Then, the mountains.  
Exhausted from the visions, Jeremy slept.  
  
"I want out." Aidam whispered.  
"What?" Hunter spread his arms and gazed around, motioning to the outline of the dark operations room. "I don't know what deals you've made in the past, but when you deal with a bounty hunter you see it out to the end."  
"What you told me to be a simple operation turned everything into a warzone. Five people lay dead now, and another three missing!"  
"A minor mishap. The tools I need have been dropped off at a small expense and I, myself, will eliminate your growing list of Intervention for my payment."  
"I think you've gotten your payment." Aidam growled, his back to Hunter, hands on the only lit table.  
"Ah, you seem to be referring to that simple whelp." Hunter observed.  
"I lost my son to you!!" Aidam screamed.  
"It is like the sun, they come and go."  
"Get out." It was the subtlest and most powerful thing Aidam had ever wanted to say to Hunter. The bounty hunter's eyes narrowed.  
"You don't want to think to cross me, Aidam, you don't know what you're up against." He armed his gun.  
Aidam sensed the action before it was done and hit a switch on his desk with his right hand. The king sword shot up and he caught the scabbard with his left hand and drew the blade with his right, reflecting the laser shot, then firing one of his own with his left blaster. Hunter threw down a smoke bomb with lightning speed and the shot sliced through his image. The smoke cleared and he was gone.  
Aidam was too shaken to break from his combat position.  
  
The forest had a pretty breeze singing through it, rustling the leaves and holding true to its continuous nature of beauty.   
Hunter's metallic form trudged over the flowers and shushed the singing birds. His red scanning eyes were searching for another beauty. They found a red case with carvings of a gun crossing a sword. "Ah," Hunter knelt down to it, "There you are my dear." He broke the locks with his enhanced strength entwined in his fingers and brought up the lid slowly. He was savoring every moment. The prize was revealed.  
It was the Force Cannon prototype. The same reddish tint to the metal frame, the structure sleek and long. Hunter noticed with delight how much his fingers trembled as they wrapped around the handle. Lifting the brilliant instrument above him from the case, it glinted then glowed from the sunrays. Hunter laughed softly to himself.   
  
Jeremy awoke with a start and the birds nearby took flight. His ears automatically picked up a rhythmic crunching of leaves. Footsteps. A metallic figure, with a top helmet similar to a futuristic sphinx emerged from the brush, carrying in its right hand a long, reddish, gun shaft. The figure didn't notice Jeremy first.   
"You!" Jeremy was on his feet, leaning back to the tree for standing so fast.  
Hunter stopped short, his red, pupilless eyes targeting the boy. But Jeremy continued, "You're the armored guy from my dream." He paused for a moment, piecing together his random visions. "You're responsible for that boy's death!"  
Hunter took a few steps back, confused and, for the moment, forgetting about the force cannon.  
  
Aidam wasted no time, entering the armory and stocking himself properly. He took one of the better helmets, and set it on a nearby table. He searched around at the various sets of armor, and finally chose a stiff body suit, looking it over, then ripped off the bottom section and set the chest plate with his helmet. He already had his custom force gun, so that was set. Now, a sword is needed. Aidam looked over the options: Crusader swords and rapiers, ninja sabers, a King sword, even a Murasame katana. He chose the King sword and proceeded to his personal cruiser: the Gun Sheath.  
The cockpit was cold, but the automatic temperatures kicked in when hatches were closed. He signaled the hangar doors for his exit. It took him a second of staring at the frozen plates to realize his screen was flashing SYSTEM LOCKED. This had never occurred before.   
"Syria." Aidam whispered to himself. And he suddenly heard the soft voice over his communicator.  
"I'm sorry. I don't believe you. You're too good of a leader to die in a petty dispute."  
"Syria," Aidam answered gently, "If I don't do something, this guy will hurt more people."  
"Let the one responsible take care of-  
"I AM the one responsible, Syria! I admit it now!" Aidam threw his acting and caution to the gods at this point, he was running out of time. "I wanted stupid power, but I don't need it, or want it, at the expense of my colleague's lives. I have to change this." Then he whispered, "Please, Syria, I'll come back." And he waited.  
Syria battled herself, then turned the key, admitting exit to the avenger. "That's what all the brave jocks say." She murmured as he flew out into horizon.   
  
"Dreams? Wow, I didn't know I was so popular to take over a boy's fantasies." Jeremy tensed, but Hunter continued, "I wonder how sad of a mother you must have had."  
Jeremy's fire rose within, "Don't ever talk about her that way!" he sped forward, hurling his fist to the face. Hunter calmly caught his wrist and lifted him off the ground, then slammed his other forearm into Jeremy's stomach, releasing his wrist on contact.  
Jeremy was thrown down to the concrete. "Do not through punches at me, boy." Hunter bellowed, clenching his skeletal fist at him. "You know not what you drive against."  
"Herrrayaaaa!" Jeremy screamed and leapt from the gray ground nine feet into the air, kicking four consecutive times. The first three Hunter blocked with his armored arms, but the forth fell down on the prominent end of his helmet, spinning him 180 degrees to the floor. And Jeremy, still descending, flipped over him, crunching and rolling to rest a few feet further down.   
Hunter was up faster, drawing the Force Cannon. Jeremy only recognized it as a gun, and that was good enough to get him running. But Hunter's was good. He only fired twice when Jeremy yelped in pain.   
The bolt had seared through the back and exited out the front of the kneecap. Jeremy knelt and cried, cradling his disabled leg. Hunter laughed maniacally and took aim at his studded target. But a green uniform flashed over his target, carrying the boy into the old construction.  
  
Tom ran with the courage of thousands. Any other time and he probably would have called for backup, but after the fight with Slate he had become slightly more confident in his actions and executions of duty. Hell, he now carried an injured teen in his arms while dodging constant beams of energy. Who wouldn't be proud?  
Two shots sang and exploded behind him, then one not two feet ahead of him. He knew where the next would be and sprang up. Sure enough, a fourth shot incinerated where he once was. He's after me now. He laid the boy behind a sturdy pillar and ran on, praying the shots would follow him. They did.  
Now more mobile, Tom executed flips, backflips, and an array of rolls and dodges just to show he could do them and still live. Hunter was so engulfed in his shooter game, he did not notice the ship rising to his occasion...   
The lights engulfed him, the ship reflecting in his armor. The speaker was loud and stern, "Stand down, Hunter. You are in direct violation of codes 4654 of the Alpha Code." It was Aidam in his flagship fighter.  
"You traitorous bastard." Hunter murmured.  
"No more lives shall be sacrificed for your account!" the ship brought out its gattling lasers.  
"Then you should be honored to be the last of them." Hunter aimed fast, and fired the beam.  
Aidam reacted well enough, swerving down so only a wing was severed, then crashing to the surface. From inside, the chancellor rustled through his extra gear and pulled out another gun and dashed up and out of the top hatch of the craft. Standing hunched on the hood, he took careful aim and fired seven rapid shots. Two singed into Hunter's free arm before he reacted and returned fire.   
Aidam leapt back behind the ship as the shots burned across the hood. From behind the metal, Aidam cursed, "Damn it, he's at full charge." He compacted his gun, it now emitting a low hum, also charging, and tapped a button on the side of the ship. An intercom appeared. "King's Sword." He spoke into it. Automatically, a smaller hatch opened and a fine, new King's Sword came out, unsheathed. Taking the Lathe and sword, he put them together, latched them onto his belt, and dashed into the denser debris of the construction.  
Hunter riddled the ship with force beams, waited, then watched it ignite itself and explode. He waited some more, then called into the debris, "Where are you Aidam? You can't hide forever!"  
"Did you try looking up?"   
Hunter whirled toward the voice, on a piece of jutting 4x4's. "You're not Aidam."  
"Do you really care?" Kane drew his new gun and commenced fire. Hunter leapt to his side with a grunt and did the same while in the air and following through. They continued firing, and not hitting each other, as Hunter spanned the perimeter of the "arena" and Kane down to the ground. The shots continued until both combatants lost their guns. Kane delivered the first blows, kicking up and twice in the chest with the same leg, then hopping forward to bring in a straight jab in the face.   
Hunter flipped back up with one hand and delivered his own blows, making up for his height in his inhuman strength. Jabbed the sides and ribs, then easily picked the 6 foot 5 inch tall Enforcer up and hurl him into the debris.  
When the bounty assassin went to pick back up his gun, another figure appeared at Kane's original post, and drew a sword. Aidam leapt off the 4x4, letting out a long war cry, his focused aim true. Hunter had his gun, whirling around, and took a shot. Aidam reflected it off the shaft and struck off the barrel of the gun, slicing down near the trigger. After looking in disbelief at the split gun, Hunter drew his own katana and commenced the duel. Aidam sliced up, down, and to either side, repeating the moves in a strategic, random pattern. The strategy didn't quite work though, for Aidam was swiftly disarmed and knocked back. A small dagger was drawn by the hunter and thrown like a discus. Aidam remembered the techniques talk to him as a child; he crossed with one hand and placed the other in front. The spinning dagger slowed in its path, and nearly stopped when it touched the palm.  
Aidam couldn't hold the concentration anymore. The dagger hit its mark, but only went halfway in. The chancellor yanked it out and cradled his hand momentarily, then pulled out his now charged gun and flung it into the darkness, into the hands of Thomas. "Use it!"  
The Wing officer did, firing every chance he got. Not necessarily hitting the bounty hunter, but throwing him off balance. "Watch the charges!"  
Aidam's call came too late, however, as the gun smoked and overheated. Unseen by the others, Kane came swooping in from behind, holding onto a loose cable, putting all his weight on Hunter's back, and sprawling both of them. Kane drew his knife; Hunter held onto his sword, flipped up, and came down to hack and slash.  
Kane caught Hunter's hand in mid-slice, his muscles tensing from the strain. His crocodile knife gleamed in his right fist. He shoved the blade into Hunter's left side, through the metal armor.  
The samurai sword clattered to the ground. Hunter's other free hand came through for a blow to Kane's chest, sending him against a pillar and sinking to the floor, dazed. Hunter staggered, staring at the knife, ignoring his blood, which was only trickling before, flowing out between the blade and the armor. He fell against nearest wall, in astonishment, letting the blood flow.  
The two warriors stared at each other in wonder, as the searchlights flooded the site. Two fighters zoomed overhead, one transport slowly following and landing in the clearing just outside the site.  
"Kane!" Kane heard one of his comrade's voices, but it was faint. His vision was blurring as the medics ran over to him. He heard one of the medics say, "Damn. Look what he had to do."  
Then Kane blacked out.  
  
"Sir. Hunter's dead." The ensign reported.  
"Yes, I know... When did he die?"  
"He was reported even before medical attention."  
"Good." He rubbed his bandaged hand. "I should have known that it was impossible."   
"Sir?" the ensign was confused.  
"The Agenda, David. Control was impossible. I should have known I could never take Direct away from them. Not after the recent incidents." He let out a deep sigh. "I have so many mistakes there, I could never return.... Is the crew ready?"  
"Yes colonel."  
"Then send the letter." The ensign left.  
Aidam strode over to his intercom and pressed the button. "Take us into orbit, Mr. Keas, I've seen enough." He turned to the sensor on the wall and spoke to the music player, "Player, the classical station." The player went to it. Aidam stood and looked through the window, grinning with revolutionary pride, the chorus of voice and strings echoing throughout the room.  
  
  
Epilogue  
Trunks took his seat and ran his fingers through his roughened hair. This council meeting was voluntary. Shane was the only one who showed up. Shane was probably the only truly loyal subject toward the good side of Direct. Trunks was glad enough that he had shown.  
He noticed, however, one lone envelope on the table, addressed specifically to him.  
"It came this morning. I didn't look at it." Shane informed him as he opened it.  
It was a simple paper only about a paragraph long. Trunks' eyes studied it closely. When he was done, he leaned slightly back and sat erect, reading it again to make sure.  
"What is it?" Shane asked lazily.  
"This is an Order of Defection." Trunks said after a time.  
"By whom?" he was suddenly awake.  
"The engineers and crew of the Freeshade." Trunks looked up from the document.  
"But that's our new Starcruiser!" Shane burst out.  
"Signed: Colonel Aidam Stronkhold." Trunks dropped the document and put his head in one hand.  
  
And far above the clouds, the ship christened the Freeshade soared higher.  
Aidam stood with his hands behind his back, fully uniformed in a customized mix of Direct emblems and a new symbol with a burning scythe on a shield.  
"Sir." Aidam turned toward the ensign; "We're ready to proceed."  
The colonel gave a nod and dismissed the boy. He returned to his position and gazed out the window. He reflected on the recent failures and put them aside, forgetting.  
The great ship continued its ascension into space. When it had reached the extent of the Exosphere, its new module opened the wormhole. Aidam put two fingers to his lips and blew a final kiss to the earth he never knew.   
At one second, there was a Starcruiser in front of a tear in space and time, and then there was nothing.  
  
Trunks gazed at the sky, and bid final farewell to his rival.  



End file.
